


The Case Of The Tyrannical Two

by ironfamjam



Series: I Thought I Knew Everything (how could I ever have known about you?) [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Detectives!Peter and Tony, Elementary AU, Episodic chapters with over-arching plot, Episoidic whodunnits, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, If you don't watch it, It's a modern sherlock holmes adaption and it's fantastic, Mystery, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony is a recovering alcoholic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2020-10-26 06:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 44,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20738030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironfamjam/pseuds/ironfamjam
Summary: Though The Spider’s been put away, Tony and Peter are still caught in a web of crime and deceit.The Spider’s crime syndicate's struggles for a new leader shake the world. A serial killer with a penchant for "accidents" develops a dangerous obsession with Tony. A CEO caught in the delusions of technological grandeur tries to becomes even more omniscient than God.It's almost inevitable really, that Tony and Peter get trapped in a plot that threatens to rip them apart when they've only just made a home.Irondad Bingo Prompt (for the first chapter anyway): KidnappingOr, the Elementary AU Part 2





	1. The Gravestone

Where The Case Of The Sinister Spider left off: 

When Peter wakes up, the first thing he knows is that he’s hot. Uncomfortably hot. The next thing he knows, are that his wrists are duct-taped behind him to the chair’s back, his ankles bound tightly to the legs. He’s alone, in a tiny room with a glass ceiling and metal walls and it’s hot. It’s too hot, he can’t-

He tries to yell, for help, for Tony, for _someone_, but he screams with no sound, the tape pulling at his skin.

Peter can’t breathe.

He shakes, trying to pull himself loose but he can’t feel his fingers anymore and he can’t breathe, he can’t even scream.

_Someone, please help me_.

\----------------

The sun filters through the window inside the brownstone, the glare marring Tony’s phone screen. It doesn’t matter though. Because none of his messages are delivering and none of his calls are going through so there’s no point in seeing because there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

It’s been almost five hours of no contact from Peter and that shouldn’t be a big deal but it _is_. Because they’re detectives, they know exactly what goes on in the world and they know exactly what’s at stake when someone’s unresponsive. 

And Peter would never ignore him.

Ever. 

There’s an unfamiliar panic growing in his stomach. An alien shortness of breath. The world pulses around him and every single thought overtakes him, and the inside of his mind is just a stream of numbers and theories and timelines and facts. And it’s odd because this is life. Finding missing persons and evasive killers is what he lives and breathes but this isn’t a missing person or an evasive killer it’s _Peter_. And he’s real and substantive and so much more than an archetype and that’s his _kid_. And Tony let him down.

He failed him. 

He should’ve gone to get that stupid tree. He should’ve taken him shopping. He should’ve gotten him a bottle of pepper spray and made sure he took it with him when he left the house. Should’ve given him better self-defense training. Should’ve done _more_. 

God why didn’t he-

No. Focus. 

Peter’s missing. And only Tony can find him. And if he had a chance in hell of doing it, he needed to be on his best game. 

There’s no other option. 

So Tony takes in a breath, closes his eyes, and thinks. 

“Ma’am, I know you’re upset but-”

“Upset?? Of course I’m upset! Someone stole my car and no one seems to care!” The young woman with sharp eyes gets right up into Steve’s face, hands at her hips. 

“I promise ma’am, we’re going to get to it, but I can’t drop all my other casework just for this.” Steve says, trying to be as gentle as possible.

“I need it back! Who do you think’s going to pick up my kids from school and drive them around to soccer practice??” 

Thor snickers behind his hand and Steve sighs, “Okay, how about we go over your statement one more time.”

“Thank you! Okay, so I had parked it in the lot outside of the Walmart…” 

The first thing Tony does is retrace Peter’s steps. 

What he knows for sure is this: Peter had made it to the store and went inside. To tease him, Peter had sent a quick photo of all the ultra tacky Christmas sweaters asking which one he liked the least so he can buy it as Tony’s gift. Tony, of course, had replied with a snarky comment that had been both read and delivered. 

After that, radio silence. 

He knew from the photo that Peter was at a Wal-Mart. Why the kid still went shopping there when he had Tony’s credit card still astounded him- but old habits died hard. 

From there, it was a quick Google search to find the nearest ones and knowing Peter, he’d have picked the first one that came up on the suggested list. Two minutes later, Tony’s in his car, speeding down the streets until he turns into the corner lot superstore, encircled by a parking lot on three sides and a back alley spanning the length of the plaza on the fourth. 

Tony swerves into the first available spot, almost running inside the store where he accosts the first worker he sees. “I need to talk to whoever’s in charge of this place at this exact second.”

The girl blinks, trying to muster up a smile, “Sir, I’m sure I can help you with-”

“Listen,” Tony’s eyes shoot down to her name card, “Anna, I’m not here to complain about your services, I’m sure it’s great. I work with the NYPD and I need access to your store’s camera footage in a missing person’s case. And I’m sure you’d love to help but I doubt you have the key to what’s probably a miserable excuse for a security room so can you please go get your boss?” Tony asks, feeling increasingly frenzied and trying as hard as he could to keep himself civil for her. 

Anna pales, running past him and returning a few moments later with a confused looking man. “You from the NYPD?”

“Consultant. I need to see your footage from earlier today.” 

“Sir I’m sorry but you can’t just come in here and-”

Tony snaps towards him, eyes sharp and hyper-focused. “Listen very carefully to what I’m about to say to you. The life of a _kid_ is at risk and I’m going to find out what happened to him. Now, you can either let me into your office and show me today’s footage, or! I burn this place to the ground with a lawsuit you’ll _never_ be able to get out of and I’ll make sure you’re never hired at any corporation ever for the rest of your goddamn life.”

The man opens his mouth to protest but Tony cuts him off, “Your staff manning the ready food bar? I see three health violations just from over here. I could smell the tobacco on my way in and yeah she tried to hide it but smoking inside a kitchen is illegal isn’t it? Then there’s the knives. You’re supposed to clean them between uses for different foods right? Allergy purposes? Guess who’s gonna go into anafuckingphylactic shock, and one of your guys’ hair nets isn’t on properly and sure that isn’t a big deal but I’ll fucking _make_ it a big deal do you understand me?” 

The man gapes at him.

“I could also just call my local friendly detectives and have the cops swarm this place for a couple hours. Wonder how well business would go then.” Tony grins cheerfully and the man’s jaw clicks.

“Follow me.” 

“Thought you’d never ask.” 

The videos only tell Tony what he already knows. Peter enters the store, he roams around the aisles, catches sight of the sweaters- God Tony’s heart squeezes when he sees Peter take the photo. Then, Peter wanders down to the decorations section, pulling down boxes of ornaments and lights, balancing his way to the cashier. The camera follows him out the front door and then there’s nothing. 

The front cameras should’ve caught him if Peter had walked out into the lot, which meant he must’ve turned the corner, which made sense if he was planning on cutting around the back to walk to one of the other stores in the plaza. 

Which was fine except that Peter couldn’t be seen in any of the exterior footage. Tony frowns, peering closer at the screen only to realize what the problem is. Swearing, he shoots up, running out the door, ignoring the yelling of the manager behind him. 

Tony storms through the automatic doors, making a beeline to his left. Rounding the corner, he can see the security camera aimed down at the street and also the massive fucking delivery truck creating the perfect blind spot. 

Tony takes stock of the scene. 

Quiet area, trees blocking the sidewalk and the street reducing visibility from any passersby. The truck’s blocking the view from the parking lot side, the back just a side road to take you to the other side of the plaza, meaning minimal thru traffic. Meaning minimal witnesses. Meaning-

Tony stops. 

That familiar unfamiliar panic sets in. His blood pounds in his ears and he’s reminded again of how normal this scene is in his life but how utterly terrifying and uncertain it is all at the same time. How many times has he been in this exact spot? Except this time, when he spots the clue, there’s no immediate thrill of satisfaction. Only fear. 

There, on the pavement next to the truck’s tire, is Peter’s phone. 

The screen is completely shattered with dirt shoe marks all over it, as though someone had stomped over it repeatedly and then kicked it away. Crumpled on the floor a little always is a muddy receipt, trapped between a crate and the ground. Tony picks it up, hands shaking. He already knows it’s Peter’s. Knows it’s an old habit his aunt taught him, to always review the receipt before leaving a store, and he can tell from the purchases and the credit card number that it’s his kid’s. 

His _kid_.

His kid who was probably reading through each item, not paying attention before whatever happened happened. 

Something bad. 

Tony swallows hard. He pushes away the unfathomable. Bending down to examine the phone, he pulls out the sterile gloves he always carries and bags it up neatly, stuffing it in his pocket. Standing in the middle of what he knows now is the core of something sinister, Tony’s forced to confront the awful acceptance that Peter is missing. Truly missing. 

That someone took him. By force. Locked him away and threw away the key. That somewhere in this city or even farther where Tony couldn’t reach, Peter was waiting for someone to find him- for _Tony_ to find him. 

And Tony was too guilt-wracked to even think straight. 

Fingers trembling for only a moment, Tony whips out his phone, knowing he has to call Steve and bring down the entire might of the NYPD on the sick fuck who did this when his phone rings instead. He stops. He can only hear his breaths. 

UNKNOWN CALLER. 

Tony’s grip around the phone tightens. He’s reminded suddenly, of one of his first lessons to Peter. There’s no such thing as coincidences. 

He presses Answer. “Who is this?”

“Aww come on, you don’t recognize your best buddy’s voice?” 

Tony’s tension dissipates and he shakes his head, “Hammer? What the fuck-”

“Hey, hey, no need for the vulgarities. I’m not calling to pick a fight. The opposite actually. I need your help. It’s my sister, Olivia.” Justin’s voice is muffled, like he’s whispering through his fist, “It’s been a couple days and I can’t find her. No one can.” 

Tony grits his jaw, a disbelieving anger that Justin would have the fucking _audacity_ to ask him for a favour while he’s spiraling in a crisis overwhelms him, “Call the police.” 

“I’m not the kinda guy they take seriously Tony, you know that. I need _you_.” 

Tony’s fingers tighten more, his knuckles turning white, “Don’t call me again Hammer.”

He moves to hang up when Justin’s words stop him cold, “Fine, we could talk about Petey-pie instead if you want. Rumor has it Olivia’s not the only missing relative around here.” 

Tony’s breath comes in hard, “_What did you say?_” 

He can almost picture Justin’s sleazy smile. The thought makes him want to roar. 

“I think you heard me Tony.”

“If you fucking know something about Peter-”

“Jesus you’re pretty stupid for a genius you know that? I _took him_ Tony. Don’t believe me? Why don’t you go check your mailbox.” 

Tony’s mind whirs faster than he can comprehend it. There are excruciatingly painful scenarios of ripping Justin apart smashing into a blind panic for Peter’s life clanging next to the image of the cracked phone and Olivia’s face. “I know this isn’t your strong suit you giant piece of shit but listen to me carefully. You hurt Peter in anyway, you do so much as move _one hair_ on his head and I will make your life more fucking miserable than it already is do you understand me?”

He can practically _hear_ Justin smirking, “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands buddy boy. So tell you what, you come meet me at the diner on third, you know the one. In an hour. We can talk more then. But I’ll give you the short version now.” His voice drops, “You help me find my sister, and maybe I’ll give you back your pet project.” 

The dial tone rings in Tony’s ear. He whips around, punching the wall with his fist because this is his fault, he did this, he did this. The bricks scrape at his knuckles and the blood runs through his fingers but the pain sharpens his mind, it dispels the fear and the panic and the anxiety and all that’s left is the cold focus of an investigator. 

One who wouldn’t lose. 

Tony runs two lights getting back to the brownstone, sprinting right to the mailbox where he sees someone’s duct-taped an envelope to the side. Ripping it open, his heart throbs right in his throat. It’s a picture of Peter, bleary-eyed, barely conscious, tape on his lips, arms pulled behind his back. The photo is dark, so dark that Tony can’t make out anything other than Peter’s body and the newspaper that has today’s date- as though Tony needed to know which goddamn day it was. As though Justin didn’t do it purely for the dramatics- as thought this were a _game_. 

Tony can’t stop staring at Peter’s face. His cheeks are flushed, sweat dribbling down his brow, hair sticking to his face. He’s hot, his eyes unfocused. He’s unhealthy and by now it’s been more than six hours of him being- 

Tony’s hand flies to his face as he squeezes his eyes shut. 

No. No time for this. He has to find Peter. That’s all that matters. That’s the only thing that will ever matter. 

Tony’s eyes flash to the clock, thirty-five more minutes. Okay. He has time. 

Tony calls Steve and doesn’t wait for him to greet him before diving right into it, “Peter’s been kidnapped. I know who did it. But I don’t know where he’s keeping him. I need you to find him.” 

He can hear Steve’s breath go sharp as he tries to process what’s been said. 

But Tony doesn’t stop, just keeps on punching.

“The guy who took him is Justin Hammer- yeah _that_ Justin Hammer.” At this point, Steve should be opening the email with a photo attachment of Peter. 

When Tony hears Steve’s gasp and “_Jesus_.” He knows that he’s seen it. 

“I’m meeting him in ten minutes. You can’t stop me. He wants me to find his sister Olivia, she’s been missing for a couple days. Then he said he’d let Peter go. I don’t trust him, so I need you guys to work the case. I sent you the picture of where Peter was last seen and I have his phone and a receipt I took. I gave it to one of my neighborhood look-outs. He should be at the precinct in seventeen minutes.” 

“Tony you can’t-”

“I have to.” And Tony’s voice is raw. It’s hurt and self-hating and desperate but he _has to_. 

“I can deal with Hammer. He’s a slimy waste of space but I know him. But that means you guys can look into him while he’s distracted. See where he’s been squatting, who he’s been with, where he’s been. You have to find Peter.” Tony stops, voice dropping, “Steve. We have to find Peter.” 

“Tony, you know how much I care about Peter. And you. But Hammer’s dangerous. I can’t just let you do this alone.” Steve insists, but he already knows he’s lost. 

“I know you already know that I don’t care how dangerous it is. Not when it’s about Peter’s life. You saw his face.” Tony whispers, unable to even articulate it, “He’s not even...” 

“The Captain’s going to be pissed.”

“Fury’s always pissed.” 

Steve lets out a long breath and Tony can almost see him rubbing the bridge of his nose, “Okay. But keep your phone on you.”

Tony winces, “Yeah, about that. Part of Hammer’s deal is that he confiscates my phone. But don’t worry, I’ll figure something out. The priority is Peter okay?” Tony grips the phone tighter, “Promise me Steve.”

“Okay.” Steve says after a beat, “Okay. Be careful Tony.” 

His smile is weak, “Aren’t I always?”

It’s pitch black. 

Peter blinks and blinks but his eyes never adjust and he doesn’t even know why he’s bothering. He’s already memorized the seven by twenty-four feet wall in front of him. Every crack, every stain, every indent in the wall. The door isn’t anything interesting either. It’s a dark brown, brass doorknob- locked obviously. 

The only thing of note in the tiny storage room is the sky light, taking up almost half of the roof. Peter frowns, trying to suck in more oxygen into his lungs but the air is sticky around him, hot and heavy. The temperature is reaching unbearable levels. And the greenhouse effect from the window only makes it worse. 

Peter’s breath hitches as the panic sets in again. But it dies just as quickly. He’s delirious. He knows he is. He’s too lethargic to even feel fear anymore, let alone a constant thrum of anxiety. He’s lost track of the hours. Only knows he’s been there since the morning and now it’s night. 

He’s buried in darkness with no hope of getting out and he feels all his senses dying because a malignant quiet has settled over his corner of hell and the only thing he can taste is his saliva but even that’s disappearing because he’s thirsty he’s thirsty he’s thirsty. The sweat is sticky under his arms and over his face. His stomach stopped growling hours ago, now just twisted in an excruciating knot. 

He groans, head rolling, wishing for Tony when he hears a voice. His eyes shoot up, hope blazing through him like fire, it lights him up it lights him up it- “Peter? What happened to you?” 

Peter feels like someone stuck a hand in his throat and stole away all his words. 

“Ben?” 

And it’s like his gag has disappeared and like the sun rose again because that’s Ben crouching in front of him, tugging at his bonds, with those same strong hands that used to lift him up and spin him around and around. “We gotta get you out. Come on bud, we can do it.” 

“Ben Ben Ben help me. Please help me.” Peter whimpers, trying to pull his wrists apart but the tape won’t rip. 

“Shh, I got you. It’s okay I’ll save you.” Ben assures him, but blood gushes from the wound in his chest and it’s so hot, it’s just so hot, and Peter doesn’t understand what’s happening he doesn’t-

And Peter’s crying, or maybe it’s still just the sweat, or maybe none of this is real but he’s shaking his head, “No, no, you’re dead, you’re dead.”

And Ben stops, looks at him with the gentlest of pity, “Petey, we both are.” 

Tony’s already waiting in the diner when Justin strolls in eight minutes late. He slides into the seat across from Tony, opening up the menu with so much nonchalance it makes Tony want to jump over the table and uppercut him right in the jaw. 

He bites his nails into his palms instead. 

“What do you want from me Hammer.”

Justin whistles, setting the menu down and signalling for the waitress to come over. “Simmer down Anthony. You already know what I want.” He smiles glowingly, “Hey darling, can I get the all American cheeseburger and a side of French fries? Thanks.” 

“Anything for you sir?” She asks, turning to Tony.

And the absolute mundaneness of it all makes Tony want to scream. 

“No. I’m fine.” He says, though every syllable hurts. 

Because he isn’t.

And he won’t be. 

Not until he has Peter back where he belongs. 

“You sister.” Tony says, when he’s sure the waitress is out of ear-shot, “She’s missing.” 

Justin frowns, but it’s lamenting, regretful. “We’re close, her and I. Have a lot in common. Blacking out’s one of them.” 

“She’s an addict too.” Tony states.

Justin lets out a breath, nodding. He pulls out a photo of a vivacious young woman, smiling widely into the camera. “She’s my little sister Tony. Just twenty-four. Last month, she came to see me, said she wanted to get clean. So I got her into rehab.” He laughs, dry, “You paid for it actually. But a couple days ago she told me she was checking out. Said she was completely fine and didn’t need it anymore.” 

Tony’s expression doesn’t change.

“I told her she should stay you know. Gave her the whole spiel. But she didn’t want to listen to me.”

“Get to the point Hammer.”

“We fought that night. And she hung up on me. And I haven’t heard from her since.”

The waitress comes over, smiling as she sets down the burger and fries. Justin thanks her warmly, digging in with a gusto. He takes large bites between words, swallowing hard, “Anyway, so I know something’s up at this point, because Olivia wouldn’t ignore me for this long. But finding a junkie in this junk city? That’s impossible. So obviously, I thought of you.” 

“You could have just _asked me_. You know, like a fucking normal person.” Tony says through gritted teeth.

Justin sets the burger down, eyes dark, “Do you remember the last thing you said to me? Because I do.” Tony feels his heart sink, “You said I was a sickening means to a sickening end.” 

Justin cocks his head, “That sound like the kind of thing a person who’d do you a favor would say?” 

Tony glares, but knows he can’t say a thing in return.

Justin smiles, picking his burger back up. “So, that’s the deal. You help me find Olivia and get her back into rehab and I’ll set poor Peter free.” 

Tony’s hands squeeze around one another, “Justin,” he says, hoping the use of his first name will spark some kind of emotive response, “Peter has nothing to do with this. Absolutely _nothing_. Let him go, and I’ll still find Olivia.” 

“No way.”

“I’ll even help you avoid the kidnapping charges.”

Justin’s eyes are cool, “Still no.”

Frustrated now, Tony’s breath hitches, “I’ll _pay_ you. I’ll give you whatever the hell you want just-”

“_No_.” Justin says, voice finally edging into something hard, “I didn’t do this so you could lie to me. I did this to find Olivia.” 

Tony lets out a hard breath, staring so intently he’s sure Justin Hammer will burn all away. The man starts to laugh, picking gingerly at his fries, “Oh man. You really wanna hit me huh? You’re just _dying_ to beat the shit out of me right?”

Tony doesn’t say anything, just keeps glowering. He feels almost outside his body. He can feel how hot he his, how enraged down to the core. And yet his self-control is rigid, unbreakable, born from years of being in the Stark manor and years more of investigative discipline. But he knows that if he let himself, if he allowed himself the chance to dissolve into his base instincts like he almost had once before, he wouldn’t just murder Justin Hammer. He would rip him from the fabric of the universe. 

Justin smiles, “But you can’t huh. Because you can see it right? It’s all over me. I got Hep C. Endocarditis too. I’m sick all over. You rough me up too much and it could be good night forever. And then what would happen to the kid? Who’s gonna save him before he starves to death?” 

In his head, Tony’s already cataloguing through every known torture method that didn’t require a physical toll. Or at least, not the traditional kind. He looks at Justin and sees a hundred ways to break a person down into something lesser than atoms. Into the most base and primal and pathetic of selves. 

But he needs to save Peter. The only goddamn good thing in the entire world right now. The only thing that matters. So with hate in his eyes and venom on his lips, Tony becomes what he’s always been, a detective, and tries to forget what it’s been like to be a father. “You said your sister called you.” 

Justin leans back, feeling secure in his hold over him. “She doesn’t have a cellphone if that’s what you’re getting at. No tracking her. She doesn’t have an apartment either, she was living on the streets before she was in rehab.” 

Tony stands, “Great.” He says through tight lips, “Then let’s check Hemdale.” 

Something glitters behind Justin’s eyes. Something Tony immediately doesn’t like. “Great minds think alike.” 

“What the _fuck_ do you mean the kid’s been kidnapped.” Fury yells, smacking his hand across his desk. 

Steve slides over the photo he printed. Thor and Fury stare at it and all at once, the anger dissipates and all that’s left is a hardened resolve. “Where’s Stark?” 

“You’re not gonna like this…” Steve starts, rubbing the back of his neck before relaying the news.

“He did _what??_” Fury yells again, turning to Thor with incredulous eyes.

“Sir…it’s Tony. Are you really surprised?” Thor shrugs, pulling his lip.

“We’re his team. What’s he gonna do if he needs back-up? Or if we find Peter?” 

“Look Captain, we all know that the second he saw that picture he lost any hope of being even the tiniest bit rational. You know what he’d do for Peter.” Steve says and Fury sighs again. 

“Headstrong bastard. Always undermining my authority.” He mutters before snapping his gaze back up, “Ok, get me everything we know about Justin Hammer. If he’s too busy running around town with Tony than we have to assume no one’s with the kid.” 

A dark silence broods over them. If Peter was all alone…how long would he last? 

Hemdale is exactly like how Tony remembered it. He still can’t figure out if that’s a good thing or not. It’s for the best though, because it helps him sneak inside to Olivia’s old room without being seen. As expected, her room looks identical to the one he had and every other room in the building. Justin glances at him from the corner of his eye, “So how long were you in here for?”

“I’d rather light myself on fire and then throw myself into a volcano instead of making small talk with you.” 

Justin raises his hands, “Touchy, touchy.” 

Tony ignores the rest of his taunting until Olivia’s room-mate, Kamala Ruger walks into the door, “Who the hell are you?” 

“Tony Stark. We come in peace, you can relax.” 

“Oh yeah? How’d you get into my room?”

Tony shrugs, “Let myself in.” He straightens, “We’re here about Olivia, you were her room-mate right?” 

Kamala peers at them, before something dawns in her eyes, “You’re the brother right?” she asks, pointing at Justin, “She had a picture of you.” 

Justin nods.

Kamala retreats into herself, like preparing for the inevitable, “Did something happen to her?” 

“Justin hasn’t been able to reach her in a couple days. Did she say anything to you about where she was going when she left?” 

Kamala crosses her arms, still looking wary, but not enough to scream bloody murder and get them kicked out. “I dunno. We weren’t that close or anything. She told me she was leaving and I tried to talk her out of it but she said it was too late. Something about a friend already coming to pick her up.”

Tony raised a brow, “Friend gotta name?”

“Beta? I think. She used to call him Beta Ray in group. He was someone she used to get high with.”

Tony frowns, “Anything else you got for me?”

She shakes her head, shrugging, “Sorry man. That’s all I got. But good luck. I hope you find her.” 

Tony thanks her for her time, silent as he mulls over what she’s said as he sneaks him and Justin out the facility again. 

“So not to be controversial, but Beta Ray sounds like a street name.” Tony drawls, turning to Justin as they walk out on the sidewalk, “I think you should pause your no contact rule. Give me my phone and I can call Steve and track him down with the NYPD database.” 

Justin rolls his eyes, “We don’t need the NYPD genius. You have me. “

Tony stops, “You know who he is?”

“Better. I know where we can find him.” 

In Justin Hammer’s apartment, Thor, Steve, and Fury try to examine the contents with just their flashlights. The streetlights are too far away and the electricity bill hasn’t been paid in who knew how long. Nothing else seemed to work in the place either. 

The contents of the room are filthy and broken. A rag is tossed over the window to block out the light, one pathetic mattress looking like it was kicked into the corner, some stray paper bags, numerous bottles and some syringes waiting for later. Thor frowns, stepping over a pizza box as Steve walks in holding a photo, “Found this taped to the bathroom mirror.” 

It’s a photo of Justin and a brunette woman smiling widely. “The sister?” Thor asks.

“Most likely.” 

Thor frowns again, “Well there’s no sign Peter was ever here.”

“I doubt he’d have brought him here.” Fury confirms, “We’re right off a main road and that stairwell’s public as hell.” 

Steve glances down at the photo, “Strange to see him so happy though.”

Thor’s face darkens, “Makes you wonder how far he’s willing to go for her.” 

They fall into silence. 

Thor rummages through some plastic bags thrown onto the floor when he stops, “Steve, come look at this.” 

Steve walks over, peering into the bag where Thor pulls out a five inch knife with some faint orange speckling. “Is that blood?”

Thor’s brows furrow as he twists the knife around, “I don’t think so. I just don’t like that it was in a trash bag.” 

Fury comes behind them, “If he used it to hurt Peter then why would he come back here to get rid of it?” 

Thor shrugs, “He’s an addict. Maybe he was high.” 

Steve pulls his lip, “I don’t know…we don’t know if he came back here. But you should bag it anyway.” He gets up, trails the perimeter of the room before pausing at the window, “Scratch that, he was definitely here.” 

Steve points at a car badly hidden by a tarp. “That’s a twenty-ten Honda. It was stolen just today, from the same Walmart Peter was at.” 

The three of them look at each other before running outside. It’s easy enough for Steve to pick the lock while Fury pretends to look elsewhere and the trunk pops open. There’s an odd sense of disappointment when they don’t find Peter trapped inside. But they know he was there. 

There are scuff marks all along the top of the trunk, like he was trying to kick his way out. “Kid’s a fighter.” Fury says quietly.

“We should call in more cops. Do an area search.” Steve says, voice hard.

Fury looks wary, “We’d have to get real lucky.”

“Maybe. But we still have to try.”

“He had a six or so hour start from when he took Peter to when he called Tony. He could’ve stashed Peter anywhere.”

Thor comes out from where he was examining the front two seats, holding out a dirty napkin with a brand logo printed on it. “Maybe not anywhere. I found this under his seat.” 

“Dilby’s?”

“It’s a burger chain.” Steve says suddenly, “And it’s only in Long Island. Bucky and I used to go just for them when we were kids.” 

Thor nods, “The grease is still fresh, he probably went there today.”

Fury rubs at his chin, “Okay. So sometime after Justin took Peter, but before he ditched the car here, he went to Long Island? Why?” 

Justin leads Tony into the rougher end of town where a giant brick gate complete with a green metal double door tied with chains blocks their entry. Justin shoves it open, it slides open a foot before the chains push him back and he ducks beneath them, gesturing for Tony to do the same. 

Despite never having been there before, Tony already knows where he is. There are crushed beer cans strewn across the badly maintained grass, empty plastic baggies and paper bags being pushed around by the breeze. He swallows hard, hands clenching into fists inside his pockets. “You said you knew where Beta Ray lived.”

“No. I said I knew where to find him.” Justin responds, looking almost malicious as he watches Tony take in the world around him. 

“It’s a heroin den.” Tony states.

Justin’s face contorts in mock surprise, “Oh no! Aren’t these triggering for you pretty sober people? You’re not supposed to be around us losers right?” he laughs, “Sucks to be you I guess huh?” 

They walk inside the warehouse, the dim candle light flickering. Eerie shadows contort over the walls and Tony’s bombarded with a past life he’d been trying so desperately to leave behind. The smell of heroin shoots right into his nose, the floor is sticky with spilt alcohol, laughter bounces off the walls and moans of pleasure echo and echo. To his left, a girl sticks a needle into her friend’s arm, eyes glassy. To his left, a man downs vodka straight from the bottle.

Tony hunches in on himself, trying to centre himself. Trying to focus. Justin looks at him, smiling that same malicious smile as he tells him to wait here until he can find someone who knows something. Tony shrinks into the wall, trying to press himself against something solid, something to ground him from the growing and growing want inside him that promises to soothe all the cracks in his heart. 

His fingers fumble for his phone, he should call Stephen. He needs him. Maybe now more than he’s ever needed him before. But his pocket is empty and Tony feels that familiar helplessness flood through him and he just wants his phone, he doesn’t need it to call or to text, just let him at least see Peter’s face, see what it’s all for. Because he wants to run away from this place and never come back. Worse, he wants to collapse onto the filthy mattress and grab the vodka straight from that man’s lips and fall into an oblivion. 

Tony stares straight ahead, into the wall. Picture Peter’s face. Picture Peter’s face. Peter when he wakes up in the morning, with that permanent cowlick before he gels it down and that goofy bleary eyed expression. Peter when he scribbles furiously into his math notebook as he gets into the groove of his homework. Peter when he grins whenever Tony walks through the door, always with a “Hey! Guess what!” 

Justin comes back. And Tony is almost grateful. 

That’s the worst part. 

“A buddy of mine said that Olivia and Beta Ray were here the other night. Beta’s supposed to come back tonight.”

“When?” Tony asks, voice tight.

Justin shrugs, looking annoyed at the question, “Tonight.” 

“Yeah, because crackheads have such reliable schedules.” Tony bites back.

Justin walks away, “Guess we have to bunk down in here.” 

The alcove they find is far enough from everyone that Tony can’t smell the sin, but still close that he feels and hears and craves everything anyway. Strung up all along the ceiling are various driver’s licenses like they were fucking Christmas lights. When Justin sees them, he grins, “Ya, those are my buddy’s. He pickpockets a lot and keeps these as trophies I guess.” 

Justin collapses onto a mattress, holding out his arms, “Hey come on man, relax, sit down.”

Tony turns away, refusing to look at him, refusing to touch anything, just wanting this to be over, to be _home_, with Peter. 

Justin frowns, trying to get his attention, “Hey, you remember that Christmas? When you were still upset about that girl, Amanda, no wait, Natasha. I don’t know. But you were depressed. Crying everywhere like a giant baby. And I _held_ you. I told you I’d take care of it. And I did.” 

“I _did_.” Justin repeats, when Tony doesn’t react, “I took you to somewhere like here and you forgot all about her. I was good to you Tony. I was your friend.”

Tony whips around, eyes blazing, “No. You were a toxic waste site to me. And I wasn’t any better to you.” 

Tony turns away again, but Justin, desperate to get a rise, just leans forward, “I wish you coulda seen your kid today. He was so nice, even when I was waving a gun in his face.” 

Tony freezes. He turns around slowly, his face a sculpture warning caution. 

“Oh yeah, kept telling me that he didn’t want me to get on your bad side.” Justin smiles, shadows dancing over his lips, “I can see why you took a liking to him. He’s tough. Didn’t even flinch. Just looked me in the eye and said his piece. But it’s not like I could’ve stopped.”

And Tony can just picture him, Peter being brave and refusing to cower, of trying to reason with someone he didn’t understand had no ounce of good in him to reach. 

Justin looks at Tony like he’s appraising him, assessing the extent of his damage before he hides his face, lying down on the mattress, “I already told you what Beta Ray looks like. Shaved head, snake tattoo. I’m gonna knock out now. But if I wake up and find out you’re gone, well…it’s bye bye Peter.” He scoffs, “And compared to where he is, this place is the fucking Ritz.” 

Tony flinches, as he takes in the broken glass, cockroach scurrying across the floor, and the faint smell of vomit. “Do you get off on torturing a kid you don’t even know?” 

“I don’t know why you’re blaming me. It’s your fault we’re even here Tony.” Justin’s eyes are venomous, “And don’t you forget it.”

Ben’s disappeared, but Peter isn’t quite sure anything is real. He’s so thirsty his throat feels like sand paper and every breath hurts. He’s stopped sweating. There’s not an ounce of moisture that went unused in his body already and he thinks maybe Ben was right and he’s already died and this is just eternal purgatory. 

He thinks he might be trying to cry but no tears come out but he knows his lips are moving and it’s just a stream of “Tony, Tony, Tony.” And he doesn’t know why Tony hasn’t come to rescue him yet, why he hasn’t saved him. 

Tony is the smartest man on the planet, the most incredible detective there ever was, he’s brought down worse criminals than Justin Hammer so where is he. Where is he?? 

Why did he abandon him? 

“Shh baby.” May murmurs, brushing her fingers through his hair, “I’ll always be here for you. It’s okay. It’s always me and you Peter.” 

Peter shakes his head, “You left me, you left me.” 

May’s hands are at his cheeks, her hair aglow like a sunset, “I’m gonna take you back now sweetie. We’ll be together again. I promise Peter. I promise.” 

But Peter doesn’t belong with her anymore. But Tony isn’t coming.

No one is.

Steve and Thor stare intently at the computer screen as they open an email sent from Suffolk County’s police force. Photos of a house open on their screen and Steve scrolls through them quickly as he gets one of the deputies on the phone. “Thanks for the photos.”

“No problem. Folsom gave us consent to search the property, but he says he hasn’t talked to his nephew in two years. We searched the place but there’s no sign of him or Parker.”

Steve sighs, rubbing at his forehead, “Ok, thanks for your help.” 

Fury comes behind them asking for an update. 

“Hammer’s uncle has a house a mile away from a Dilby’s, we thought it’d be a lead but it ended up being a bust.” 

Fury crosses his arms, glances at the clock and frowns harder, “Well wake up every one of those Dilby’s owners and get their surveillance videos. He has to be in one of them.” 

The two detectives nod and as Thor stands up to stretch, Steve’s phone rings. It’s an unknown number. He looks at it for a second before answering, “Hello?”

“Steve.”

“Tony! Are you okay?” 

Thor glances down and Steve turns the phone to speaker mode. “Yeah. I’m fine. I stole some girl’s phone.” Tony looks behind him, to where there’s still the faintest bits of white powder under Justin’s nose, “Hammer’s out. Should be for a while.” 

“Okay, where are you?”

Tony hesitates for a second, “Fordham Heights…it’s a shooting gallery.” 

Steve groans, “Tony-”

“Look I know okay. But we’re waiting for a friend of Olivia’s but none of that matters. Have you guys found Peter yet?” 

“No, but we found the car he used to abduct him.” Thor answers, “We think Hammer drove to Long Island, maybe hid Peter there, but we’re not sure after that.”

“I can help with that.” Tony cuts in, “There’s powder all over Hammer’s jacket, like dust when you cut stone. Marble or granite probably. He probably got it from where he left Peter. Maybe a construction site or a quarry or even a tile warehouse I don’t know.” 

“No, that’s good. We’ll look into it.” Steve rushes to say.

“Get everybody out to anywhere that matches that description and text me when you find him. Not for anything else got it?” 

“Anthony,” Thor says, voice serious, “maybe you should come back.” 

Tony doesn’t hesitate. “No way.”

“This isn’t good for you Tony.” And it’s the use of the nickname that gets him. That hurts Tony the most. It reminds him that he isn’t alone in the world anymore and reminds him that’s exactly the reason why he has to keep going. 

“Look, I’m no closer to using today than I was yesterday okay? Hammer’s the only person in the world who knows for sure where Peter is and until we find him, I can’t take any chances. Just keep me in the loop okay?” 

Tony ends the call before they can squeeze his resolve more. 

It’s when the sun is already beginning to rise when Tony kicks Hammer awake, “Wake up. Wake up.”

The man groans, rolling over rubbing at his eye, “What do you _want?_” 

“We have to go.”

Justin snarls, sitting up, “I told you, we go when I say so. And I don’t see Beta Ray.” 

“We don’t need him.” Tony says bitingly, “Look.” He holds out a license with an unpleasant man’s picture on it, “This was hanging around with the other ‘trophies’, it’s cleaner than the others, means it’s newer. Because this man was here two nights ago, the same night your sister was. I know because your friend Mickey confirmed it.”

“So?”

“So, I know about Jonathan Bloom, all the nasty shit he’s into. It’s possible Olivia left with him and if she did, we don’t have time to waste arguing about it.” 

Jonathan Bloom isn’t happy to see them when Tony and Justin barrage his door. But his displeasure is overshadowed by how dishevelled he looks, what with the cut on his forehead and his arm in a sling. “You guys don’t look like cops.” He announces, looking them over with a barely disguised distaste.

“Consultants to the cops.” Tony says breezily, walking right past him into the apartment. 

The man’s brows furrow, “Well come on in sure.” 

Tony peers into the open concept space, frowning. “So?” Bloom says, crossing his arms, “What am I alleged to have done this time?” 

Tony tilts his head, lips puckered in assessment, “You don’t seem too surprised to see us.”

“I’m used to police harassment.” He replies coolly, “But I’m also sick and tired of you. So ask what you wanna ask and then get out.” 

“I’ve heard about you, you know.” Tony starts, voice low, “Rich businessman, racy rumors flying around about what you do behind closed doors.” Tony’s jaw tightens, “About how you like girls who can’t fight back. Women you handpick from nightclubs and drug dens who do what you want for a quick fix. Women who sometimes were never seen again.” 

Bloom straightens, face dark, “Then you also know that none of those rumors have been proven. I think I’m getting ready for you to go now.”

“Alright fine. We’re looking for Olivia Hammer, pretty twenty-something who went missing two nights ago from a heroin den where you were seen.” Tony hands him the photo of her and Bloom peers at it, expression blank. 

When he doesn’t say anything, Tony waves around the driver’s license, “You lost this at that exact same drug den so don’t bother trying to deny you were there.” 

Bloom snatches it from his hand, glaring at it like it could carry any of the blame, “Yeah that’s mine. Obviously. But I never met her.” 

Tony pulls his lip and Bloom gestures as though to say ‘come on,’ “Look I don’t know where I lose my license, but it wasn’t at some goddamn crack house.” 

And it’s the strangest thing. It’s the way the morning light reflected off a glass lamp and the beeping of the commuter traffic that Tony realizes it’s been a day since Peter’s been missing. An entire day of him being trapped somewhere, taped to a chair, alone and afraid and hungry and Tony was getting nowhere. And this piece of shit- this murdering, abusive, waste of parts was sitting there lying right to his face and he knows that who he really wants to rip apart is the man who started this all but Jonathan Bloom is looking at him with those smug, smug eyes and suddenly Toy’s fist is colliding into Bloom’s hurt arm and he has the man by the neck, smashing it into the coffee table. “Olivia! Hammer! Tell me every fucking thing you know or not even God can save you from what I’m about to do to you.” 

The man whimpers and Tony pushes his face deeper into the wood, “I met her!” Bloom yells, “I meet her! In Fordham Heights, the night before last.” 

“And??” 

“I took her here. But she- she robbed me. She’s the one who messed up my arm.” He insists, blubbering.

“Explain that.” Tony says, not easing up an inch, “You assaulted her?”

“No. She attacked me.”

Tony snorts, “So you attacked her and she fought back.” 

“She took my stash and some loose money and ran. I called the doorman to stop her, but he’d already put her in a car. It was a service! I’ll get you the name!!” 

Bloom’s red in the face now, Tony pulling one arm behind his back, using the other hand to press his neck into the table. From across the room, he sees Justin. In his eyes, Tony doesn’t even recognize his own face. 

Thor’s jaw clenches as he looks out onto the lake of another under renovation storefront. Peter isn’t here. No sign Justin ever was either. Steve comes up beside him, looking just as tense, “We have every cop for twenty miles over three counties searching. Construction sites, tile stores, hardware stores…I don’t understand how we haven’t found anything yet.”

Thor looks around the grounds, there are holes dug up all over the lawn. From where he’s standing, they look almost like graves. “Stark must be losing his mind.” He says, “Peter didn’t even look alright in the first few hours of being taken…if Hammer didn’t put him somewhere safe…” 

“He’s a strong kid.” Steve says, voice certain- for Thor or himself he isn’t sure. 

But Thor is still looking at the hole in the ground with an odd look in his eye, “We haven’t checked cemeteries.” He whispers. 

“What?” 

Thor whirls around, excitement sparking in his eyes for the first time since that day, “Steve-headstone engravers. It’s another place to cut marble.” 

Steve jolts, pulling out his phone, skipping past a dozen pictures before shoving the screen in Thor’s direction, “The photos from the uncle’s house, there was a jacket on the dinner table. Look at the brand: South Shore Memorials.” 

Inside the closet, the heat rises, the blood finds it harder to reach Peter’s hands and feet. He’s numb he’s numb he’s numb he’s- he’s hanging up ornaments on the Christmas tree while Tony untangles the lights. “I don’t get how they’re already such a mess when we just bought them.” Tony complains, stretching his arms wide to let the bulbs dangle. 

“Come on Mr. Stark, it’s part of the Christmas spirit!” Peter encourages, smiling as Stephen nods from behind his third cup of coffee. 

“He’s right you know. All good things are worth struggling for.” He says sagely.

Tony rolls his eyes, “I will literally get you fired from your job.” 

“You’ll do no such thing.” Pepper says, swatting the back of Tony’s head with a magazine.

“Pep!” He whines, rubbing at his head petulantly. 

“It’s Christmas don’t be such a grinch.” 

“I’m not a grinch! I’m distributing great gifts! Aren’t I Pete?” 

Peter shrugs, hiding his smile, “Don’t look at me! You wouldn’t tell me what they are so how am I supposed to know?”

Tony sighs, full of dramatics, “When have I ever been mediocre at anything?” 

Peter opens his mouth but Tony cuts him off, shooting up, “I think the doorbell’s ringing. I should get it.” 

“Tony,” Pepper sighs exasperatedly but it’s utterly fond, “it’s not-”

When it rings, Tony turns to her with the most smug of expressions. “You were saying?” 

When he opens the door, he’s greeted with an armful of wrapped gifts, “Anthony!” Thor booms, “Good to see you!”

“You too Point Break. Cap. Brucie-bear.” He nods at Steve who just rolls his eyes.

“When will it die.”

“Never!” Peter cries from the background.

Tony sticks his thumb behind his shoulder, “You heard the kid.” 

Everyone piles into the living room, MJ and Ned appear as though they were always there and the room fills with laughter and light and the smell of pot roast and it’s snowing, it’s snowing, it’s snowing. 

The snow buries everyone within it and Peter wonders why the ice feels so hot and his breathing goes ragged when the white goes up to his nose and everyone he loves blurs around him and he realizes now that he won’t see any of them anymore. 

He’s gone now.

Gone. Gone. Gone. 

Peter’s head slumps forward, eyes shut. 

There’s not a sound in the room, not even breathing. 

Tony walks along an abandoned rail track behind an unused office building. Justin trails behind him, staring skeptically, “You sure that driver didn’t just rip us off?”

“This is where he said he brought Olivia.” Tony responds, emotionless, “We already know she stole heroin, she probably just wanted somewhere quiet to shoot up.” 

Justin pops up beside him, voice almost giddy, “You know, if she was coming to use, there’ll probably be other addicts around here. More people using.” 

Tony’s voice is hard, “What’s your point?”

“Oh.” Justin laughs, “What? It doesn’t bother you? The shooting gallery last night? All the alcohol? What you’re just cured now?” 

“Do you try to make everything you say dumber than the last thing or does that just come naturally?” 

The tracks lead them to an underpass, shadows hiding whatever lurked beneath. Justin’s still taunting him when a breeze passes by and Tony stops, nose prickling. He lifts a hand, “Wait here.” 

“Why-”

“I said _wait_.” 

He knows that smell. His heart thuds in his chest. He knows it. 

Tony walks through the darkness and when his eyes adjust, he sees Olivia Hammer, needle still stuck in her arm, eyes glassy, the smell of rot all around them. 

Tony stomps out from beneath the bridge, fury written into every line of his face, “You better explain yourself right fucking now.”

Justin’s brows furrow, “What are you-”

“Olivia’s dead. She’s been dead for two days. And you knew.”

Justin’s eyes widen, “What??” 

“What was the point?? What is this? Some kind of game?”

Justin opens his mouth but Tony raises a hand, “No. Don’t give me your bullshit. I know you knew. Your boot print is still there! Army surplus, size nine and a half, same tread pattern as the one on Peter’s phone. You didn’t even bother wiping the fucking dirt off.” Tony’s breaths come in hard, his confusion battles with his anger and he _can’t stop_ picturing that needle in Olivia’s arm, “You broke my kid’s phone, kidnapped him and then called me and asked me to find the sister you already knew was DEAD. Why!” 

Justin shakes his head, lip pulling, “I never told you how Olivia got hooked. She ran away, dropped out of high school, came to the big city. Just like her big brother. She crashed with me and soon my bad habits became her bad habits.” 

There’s a jumpy quality to Justin’s voice, a pain that will never leave, a guilt that will never die, “She called me right after she left that Bloom guy’s place, told me what happened, that she took his stuff. That she was scared.” His voice cracks, “And then I found her.” 

Justin laughs, but it’s cold and pained, “And you know, when I found her, it was the funniest thing because all I could think about was you. And every fucking thing you said about me. About how I’m despicable, a piece of garbage, worthless. And you’re right. Again. Like you always are.” 

Justin’s eyes snap up, dark and twisted, “But I’m right about you too. I knew if I made you look for her, you’d find her. Of course you would. But first, you were going to go through what she went through, see what she saw, go down the same dark holes. And I was going to watch when it hit you, when you realized this is where you belong. In a place like this. With people like me. Right down here at the bottom.”

Tony swallows hard, he thinks his breathing’s getting louder but maybe that’s just his heartbeat.

“Why are you trying to fight it. Why put yourself through all this? Just do it Tony. You know you want to.” Justin taunts and it takes everything inside him for Tony not to keep calm. 

“Tell me where Peter is.”

“I don’t think so.”

“He doesn’t have anything to do with whatever issues you have with me Justin.” 

“Oh I disagree. He has _everything_ to do with it. You think you’ve changed? That you can just live out a little happy family life? No. You don’t deserve that life. You don’t _belong_ there. And you know it.” 

Justin pulls out a bottle from his trench coat pocket. Tony’s eyes snap towards it like gravity. “You didn’t break last night. But I know you just need a little push. I brought your favourite.” The scotch whirls around in the glass, beautiful and amber. 

Justin smiles, “Just the way you like it.” 

Thor and Steve get in touch with the local police and within the hour, they’re at South Shore Memorial. They walk inside, try switching on the lights but they don’t work. “The guy who owned the place passed away a few months ago and the family didn’t want to be in the headstone business anymore. They’re waiting for a new buyer.” One of the cops explain.

Steve nods, “Hammer’s uncle worked here for thirty years. Makes sense Hammer knew about this place.” 

The cop shrugs, “A pretty good hiding spot, that’s for sure.”

The team splits up, doing a top to bottom search. They’re going to find him. 

Steve knows it. 

He’s here. 

He has to be. 

Justin shakes the bottle before tossing it so it hits the grass in front of Tony’s feet. “That’s the great thing about alcoholics. You don’t have to get blackout drunk to know you’re a failure. Which is good, because the whole point of this is that you remember. How you got here and who brought you.”

Tony’s jaw clenches so tight he’s sure his teeth will grind to dust and his eyes blaze with hell’s fires but all Justin does is laugh. “There’s that look again. The one that says what bones should I break and in what order.” He throws his arms out, inviting Tony in for the kill, “Do it. I dare you. But the second you so much as touch me I’m done talking.” 

In the shadows on Justin’s face is a promise, “I’ll never tell you where Peter is and he’ll die. Just like Olivia did. And this time, it’ll be _your_ fault. Not mine.” 

They’ve searched the entire property except a large storage shed in the back. Steve and Thor switch on their flashlights as they pull up garage door. Steve paces around the room when he stops, “Thor! Here! I hear someone!”

Thor sprints towards him and watches as Steve grabs the nearest blunt object and bashes the knob until it falls to the floor. Thor rams his shoulder into the wood and the door flies open before both he and Steve just stop dead. 

Peter’s slumped forward in his seat, head rolling around, eyes fluttering. Steve isn’t even sure he recognizes them let alone knows they’re even there. “It’s like an oven in here.” Steve says, heart twisting, “You! Call an ambulance. Quick!”

Thor’s already working on cutting Peter’s ties, “It’s okay Peter. We got you. You’re going to be okay.” He’s saying, over and over but Peter doesn’t respond, just sways.

“He’s dehydrated. He needs water.” Steve mutters, running to go see if anyone had a bottle on hand but not before he sends a text to Tony. 

They’ve found Peter. 

Now Tony can worry about himself.

The phone in Tony’s pocket buzzes and with nothing to lose, he pulls it out. _Found Peter. Taking him to hospital. Are you okay?_

Tony knows he should feel relieved, grateful, euphoric even. But all he feels is a tidal wave of every single emotion he’d repressed bubble and gush and overwhelm him. 

“Hey. What’s that. Didn’t I say not phones. _Hey_.”

Tony looks up and knows in his heart that he hates this man. That he hates everything about him. Everything he represents. Everything he is and was. And he’s the reason Peter is hurt. He’s the reason he’s in the hospital. He’s the reason why every single calibrating force inside him has gone off kilter and Tony can’t make out where the sky is and where’s the ground and he can’t find a centre of gravity and nothing makes sense and all he knows is that he can smell the scotch and there’s a needle sticking out of Olivia’s arm and Peter’s okay and he doesn’t deserve him. 

Because Justin was right. He’s an addict. And he always will be. 

It was stupid to wish for more. 

Tony raises the phone to his ear, “Steve. I need you guys to come here.” He can’t really hear his own voice, it’s tight and strained. 

Justin watches him with a scoff in his eyes. 

When the sirens echo in the emptiness, Justin Hammer is unconscious on the ground and Tony is slumped against the brick wall. 

The bottle in his hand is three-quarters gone. 

In a hospital in the other side of the city, Peter Parker blinks awake. His body feels cool, his throat not parched, his body finally released from its unnatural confines. 

He’s alive.

But when he looks around the room, the one person he wants to see isn’t there waiting. And Peter doesn’t know if Tony’s the one who found him or not but what he does know is that heaven and hell and even the goddamn Devil couldn’t keep Tony away from storming into his hospital room. 

Peter’s stomach twists.

Steve walks in through the door, eyes flooding with relief. “Peter, thank God. How are you feeling?”

Peter’s voice is raspy and it almost hurts to move the air through his throat but he has to ask. He has to. “Where is he?”

Steve looks away. “Peter…something’s happened.”


	2. The Sins of The Father

When Steve tells Peter what’s happened, he leaps straight from his bed, stumbling to the door. His knees falter when the weight of world crashes atop his feet, but he pushes through the vertigo and the feeling that his entire body is made up of nothing more permanent than needs and surges forward. He ignores Steve’s yelling, whipping down the hall until he sees Fury, still talking to the receptionist. 

“Captain!” Peter yells, though his voice quivers in the cacophony, “Captain!” He repeats, and this time, Fury turns around. 

“Peter? What are you-”

“Please don’t take me away. Don’t do this.” Peter begs, stopping right in front of him, panting and swaying. He grabs onto the reception counter for support, batting Fury’s hand away when he tries to steady him, know he has to be strong. Strong enough for himself and strong enough for Tony too. 

“I know Mr. Stark relapsed. I know he wasn’t supposed to. But- but he’s been trying so hard! And he’s been going to his meetings and talking to Dr. Strange and he’s had so many opportunities to use and he _didn’t_ and this time it was all my fault so you can’t blame him. Please!”

Fury opens his mouth but Peter cuts him off. He’s afraid he’s going to collapse and he’s afraid he’s going to start crying and never stop and he’s afraid that this is his only opportunity to speak so loud the world will fall silent to hear him and he knows he has to get everything off his chest _right now_ because nothing in the universe is more important than keeping his family together. 

Nothing at all.

“Mr. Stark’s a good guardian. He makes sure I do my homework and eat something healthy and always checks on me when he thinks things are off. And it’s not his fault I got kidnapped! He always does everything right. He always checks in on me which is why he even knew I was missing in the first place and he always makes sure to know where I’m going and with who and I swear he isn’t neglectful! Ever! And if you take me away it’ll- it’ll-” Peter’s eyes water and his face burns from the shame.

He rubs at his eyes with his sleeve, lip wobbling as he struggles to regain his composure, “What happened to me wasn’t his fault and if you do this…he’ll never get over it.” Peter’s eyes harden, and Fury sees a lurking anger rise to the surface, “And if something happens to him because of it…I’ll never forgive you. _Ever_.” 

Fury looks at him, “Peter, I’m not going to take you away.” He finally says and Peter stares.

“What? But you said- at the funeral- that if Mr. Stark relapsed that you’d-”

“That was before he went ahead and _adopted_ you. And I wouldn’t have had the authority to do that anyway- that’s more Social Services’ gig. But I know that you’ve been good to each other.” His expression softens into something reflective of the past, “I know more than anyone how it changed him.” 

Peter sags against the counter, the relief robbing him of all the intensity that kept him standing. “Oh thank God.” And he’s trying so hard not to fall and just cry and cry and cry. 

“But you’re not out of the woods yet Peter.” Fury says, voice sorry but unwavering.

“What?”

Fury looks past him, where Peter sees Steve is waiting- he’d probably caught up with him right at the beginning. “Let’s go back to your room.”

When Peter’s back in bed, body instantly sinking into the pillows, Fury drops the bomb, “The District Attorney is deciding whether or not to charge Tony with assault. If he decides to, there’s a good chance he’ll go to jail.” 

Peter lurches forward, fingers twisting into the sheets, “_What?”_

Steve sighs, rubbing at his temple, “When we found him, Hammer was already down on the ground. Someone had punched him in the face and torso, bruised his ribs, and he wasn’t unconscious, but he wasn’t good either.” His eyes are heavy, “We all knew who did it.” 

Peter’s heart seizes in his chest. He feels hot all over, heartbroken and scared and _angry_. So, so, angry. He can’t remember feeling this furious. This explosive. “He deserved it.” He grits out, through a jaw so tight he’s sure it’ll snap.

Steve purses his lip looking prepped to lecture him but Peter can’t focus on anything other than his white knuckles twisting into themselves and the thrumming of magma in his veins. “He locked me in a closet with no air and he led Mr. Stark on a fucking _goose chase_ so he could make him relapse and-and” and suddenly the furious storm inside him bursts into a million miserable rain drops. “It’s not fair.” He shouts, “It’s not fair!” 

Steve and Fury share looks and they’re cops- they can’t tell him he’s right. Steve reaches out, squeezes Peter’s shoulder, but Peter finds no comfort in it. “Can you please go?.” He whispers, hiding his face, “I just…I’d rather be alone.”

“Peter-”

“Please.” 

Steve tries to catch his eye but Peter steadfastly looks away. Fury and Steve get up. They close the door softly behind them. 

In the silence of the hospital room, a terrifying thought hits him. 

_“The house? Yeah, it belongs to daddy dear. After I finished rehab, he gave me the keys on the condition that he’d kick me out zero hesitation if I ever drank again. Not that I needed the extra motivation.”_

Peter lurches for his phone, fingers stumbling to open Google and see if what happened on the train tracks made it onto the news when his phone rings. 

His heart booms.

_Incoming call: Howard Stark_

Tony’s on the roof. 

The view from the brownstone is one of the many reasons why he chose to live there. From atop the building, he could see the water, charming with its glitter, and the bridge, with its constant thrum of cars and people. He watches the city come alive in the morning and fizzle in the night. He sits rooted in his chair, trying to forget the memory of how the scotch tasted on his tongue and as it burned down his throat. He throws each detail onto the roof of a passing car and wishes it would drive the memory far away to where he’ll never feel it. 

But new cars keep passing and his old desires stay the same. 

His phone buzzes again and he doesn’t have the heart to check it. Stephen glances at him, “You have to confront him sometime.” He says, in that annoyingly rational but necessary way.

“How?” Tony asks, voice hoarse from refusing to speak for the first thirty-two hours of being found- broken and twisted and pathetic in every way. “How can I look him in the eye after what I did.” 

Tony’s head rolls around, no energy to even keep his neck straight. His eyes are haunted, gaunt, dark circles revealing how many nights he’d been without sleep. His lip is pulled almost imperceptibly into a frown, a breath away from weeping. 

Stephen’s heart twists. 

“Staying sober isn’t easy Tony. You know that. There are good days and there are bad days and sometimes you drink but that doesn’t mean you don’t keep trying.”

Tony’s eyes flash, “This isn’t about staying fucking sober. I’m going to stay sober. I’m better at everything when I am. You know this isn’t about-” Tony stops, the feral sharpness in his eyes dies. 

Stephen takes the quiet as an apology. 

“Peter loves you Tony. And I bet he’s worried out of his mind. You know he’ll forgive you.”

“He shouldn’t have to. Is this his life now? Always worrying about if the guy who’s supposed to be taking care of _him_ is going to end up in some alley drunk out of his mind? Is that the kind of life someone like him should be living??” Tony stands and the city sways around him, “He deserves better than me Stephen. You know it. I know it. I didn’t even-” Tony looks away, self-hatred clear on every shadow on his face, “I couldn’t even save him. If it wasn’t for Steve and Thor-”

“_You_ were the one who gave them the powder tip and figured out he was gone well before Hammer called you. What were you supposed to do? Not go with him? You did what you thought you had to. He was the one who tried to manipulate you and drag you back.” Stephen sighs.

“I know you. I know you think you’re above it all and that the world shouldn’t affect you the way it does everyone else. And I believe you when you say this only makes your commitment to the program stronger. I get it. But you can’t keep sitting here and feeling sorry for yourself when your _kid_ is in the hospital because some bastard locked him in a room that gave him _heat strokehell_. And it could’ve been worse. You didn’t go on a binge- fuck you didn’t even finish the _bottle_. And you’re going to get better. You’re Tony fucking Stark. You take shitty situations and make them into something better. So you need to go to your son right now because you need to fix this.”

In Tony’s eyes is a brokenness that longs to be fixed and when he takes the first step towards the door Stephen almost wishes he believed in God to say thank you. “He needs you Tony. And you need him.” 

When Tony’s in the taxi to the hospital, there are three things running through his mind. One, Stephen was right. He can’t let himself be swallowed in his own personal pity party again. He did that with Natasha and he had spiraled into a pit so dark he forgot the sun still rose in a world of never ending night. Peter needed him now- will always need him. And that, that would always be more important. Had to be. 

Two, if he was going to be there for Peter, he had to deal with the assault charge. He refused to be remorseful, Hammer got every bruise that he deserved- more than Tony gave him- but he had to be better, be on the straight and narrow- if he had any hope in hell of avoiding a felony charge. 

Three…the brownstone. Howard Stark is many things, but a merciful man isn’t one of them. If he said he’d take away his and Peter’s home if he drank again, he meant it. The question was whether or not he’d ever know it happened. And whether or not he left someone in New York to keep tabs on him. 

Problem one is en route to being solved. Problem three is untouchable until his dad makes the first move. So problem two then…he could solve that.

He dials Pepper’s number and for some reason, feels a swell of emotion in his throat when she answers on the first ring. 

“Oh my God Tony are you alright?”

Tony smiles, ducking his head as though there were anyone to hide his feelings from. “Hey Pepper, glad you picked up.”

“Of course I would. I’ve been trying to reach you for days.” 

That familiar sternness keeps the smile rooted on his face and he switches the phone from one hand to the other so he can lean his head on the window, “Sorry about that. Was in a bad way. But…I’m doing good now. Or trying to. That’s why I called.” 

She’s quiet for a second, “You want the inside scoop on the charges against you right?”

“If you’d be so kind.”

She sighs but tries to hide it, “It’s not looking great Tony. But it’s not looking bad either.” 

“Ahh, the grey area. My sweet spot.”

He can almost _see_ her rolling her eyes. 

“Your Captain did all the right things. Put in a good word to all the important people, talked about all the work you’ve done for the department.” 

“But it’s not enough?”

“Shockingly, it’s not really about you.” She says wryly, “The police department hasn’t exactly had a good year. There’s a sense that they’re too soft on their own when they mess up and if the DA decides that he wants to crack down on it, you’d be the perfect lamb.” 

Tony sighs, “The joys of being a consultant.”

“Exactly. You’re with police, but not really police, so no one would be too up in arms about disciplinary action.” She waits a beat, before her voice drops to something more apologetic, something sad, “You know I can’t do much because everyone knows we have a relationship through the Romanova case, but I’ll do what I can.”

Though Tony’s stomach twists, he tries to smirk through the turmoil anyway, “Are you saying you have a conflict of interest with me Miss. Potts?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” She retorts loftily.

“One more thing,” Tony says quickly, “I know you’ve been around to see Peter and I wanted to say I appreciate it. You being there when I…”

God his stomach hurts.

“He’s a great kid. It was really my pleasure.” He can hear her shifting some papers around before she says, “I’ll fill you in on any new info I pick up and I’ll try to get a sense on what the DA’s feeling.”

“Thanks Pepper, I owe you one.”

He can hear her smile when she replies. “Will that be all Mr. Stark?”

That familiar warmth comes back and Tony feels part of his earlier tension melt away. “That’ll be all Miss. Potts.” 

His smile lasts all the way until they pull up at the hospital and Tony has to confront the fact that he’s been avoiding his injured kid for two days. 

“Hello?” Peter says, voice almost shaky.

“Is this Peter Parker?” a voice asks, commanding and firm.

“Yes…Mr. Stark?” 

Howard Stark doesn’t confirm or deny anything, just jumps right into his point, “My son has been ignoring my attempts at contacting him and I know you’re always around so I thought it best to go through you. Is he there?”

Peter swallows, the loneliness of the last day and a half seeping into him, “No. But whatever you want to tell him you can tell me.” 

“Fine. Inform him that I’m coming to the city tonight and I expect to see him. I know about the mess he’s made. And the charges.” 

Peter’s heart sinks right into his stomach, “Sir if you could just-”

“Tell him I’m coming.” 

The dial tone rings in his ears just as the door opens and Tony walks through the door, eyes creased and pained. Peter twists in his spot, stuffing his phone under his blanket, trying to think of something to say when Tony takes four giant steps and grabs him in a tight hold. Peter’s lip wobbles for only a moment and the resentment at being alone flickers for just a moment until Tony’s hand clasps at the back of his head and he feels his mentor tremble. 

Peter’s arms shoot around Tony like it’s inevitable and he squeezes as hard as he can. They stay together like that for moments that feel like eons marking a new epoch. When Tony pulls away it’s to drop his hands to Peter’s shoulders, push him an inch farther so he can assess him, his perceptive eyes picking up on every micro-detail Peter could never fathom. 

“I-” Tony’s fingers tighten around him before they loosen and slide off his arms. “I should’ve been there when you woke up. Actually, I should’ve been the one to find you. To bring you home. But I…” Tony sniffs, rubbing at his left arm, “I let you down. Big time. And you don’t have to say anything, you’re too good. It’s the best thing about you but it makes you blind to all the ways I could ruin everything, but I’m here now. And I’m going to do everything I can to keep being here and I-” He stops. Looks into Peter’s eyes, wide and brown and trusting. 

Tony Stark has only said I love you to three people. And one of those people doesn’t deserve it anymore. But perhaps the fourth person might.

No, Tony knows he does.

“I love you.” He says and watches as Peter’s eyes widen and then glitter, “When Steve told me they found you I almost had a heart attack out of pure relief. And I’m sorry. Again. God I should’ve made notes or something. Be more coherent. But damn, I’m just repeating myself. You get what I’m trying to say right?” 

And Peter just hiccups a laugh, “Some kind of genius huh Mr. Stark?”

Tony snorts.

“I wished you were here…when I…when I woke up but I get it. I was really…I-” Peter looks down at his hands, “I really wanted my- my.” He can’t form the words, he wants to, but they lodge in his throat.

Tony squeezes his shoulder, “I know. I’m sorry. I needed to be here for you. I’m always telling you you’re my priority and this time, I didn’t walk the walk. To be fair though, I thought you’d be pissed as hell at what I did.”

Peter’s neck snaps up, incredulous, “What?? Of course I was pissed off. But not at you! Why would I be mad at you?? He _kidnapped_ me because he wanted to mess with you and then took you to everywhere that would be bad for you because he was _crazy_ and- and evil. He’s just evil! I couldn’t be mad at you! What he did was _torture_.” His lip wobbles, “For both of us.” 

Tony’s hand clenches, “You didn’t deserve that Peter. You didn’t deserve a single second of it. And I’m going to make sure it never happens again. Ever.” 

And Peter knows that he can’t promise that. That no one in the world can. But there was something comforting about it anyway. Something reassuring in the fierceness of a parent to protect their child. 

“I’m not going to make the same mistakes twice. You can count on it.” 

And Peter knows he’s talking about the kidnapping, but he’s also talking about his reaction after the fact. That he’ll have more faith in Peter’s faith in him. That he won’t forget that he’s a parent now. Even when he thinks he has to. 

“I’m sorry about what happened to you too.” Peter says, voice quiet, “And I hope…I hope you don’t think I think any less of you.” His eyes shoot up, pure and genuine and sweet, “I think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.” He smiles shyly, “And I love you too. Maybe even more than Star Wars.”

Tony whistles, trying to hide how much Peter’s words strike him down to his heart. “Wow. Star Wars. That’s a lot.” 

Peter nods solemnly, “It is.” 

Tony glances at the half-eaten food tray and gives him a stern look, “You been eating?”

Peter shrinks into his pillows. “Yes?”

“Lies.”

“Well it’s gross!”

Tony looks at the tray again, “Yeah alright. Want burgers?” 

Peter perks up, “Really??”

“Really, really.” 

“Alright, sit tight.” Tony turns to head to the cafeteria before he stops, turning ever so slightly to look at him, “What you went through…in the closet, we need to talk about it.” 

Peter shrinks into his pillows, looking away. “But we don’t have to right now. For now, let’s just focus on being here. Okay?”

Peter’s voice is quiet, “Okay.” 

Twenty minutes later, Peter and Tony are crammed onto the hospital bed, bickering over which TV channel to rot their brains to as the burger juices drip down their fingers. And it’s not enough, Tony has more to do, a lot more to do to make up for not being there when Peter needed him, but for right now, it’s enough that they have each other. That they’re both alive and recovering together. 

When the movie is over, Peter shifts away from Tony so he can look him in the eye, trying to summon some courage. “Mr. Stark…something happened today that I didn’t tell you about yet.”

Tony tilts his head.

“Your dad called. He said he’s coming tonight.” 

Tony frowns, “There’s no way.” 

“He called me! Said he knew what happened and that he wanted to talk to you.”

But Tony still looks disbelieving, pulling out his phone to see if the alarm had been deactivated. His father had a key to the house and the code to the alarm. If he had entered, he would be able to see it, but there’d been no activity since he left. It was already six o’clock, not many hours left for the evening. 

“He’s not gonna come Pete. Trust me. Dad never does remember?”

Peter bites his lip, hunching in on himself, “But…the brownstone…do you think he wants to kick us out?”

Tony shrugs, “Maybe. But even if he does, we’ll be okay. I told you I have money outside of him. We’ll find something we like.” 

“Yeah but…” Peter’s lips pull. 

That’s their _home_. 

Tony sighs, wrapping an arm around him, “Yeah I know.”

When it hits seven-forty-five, Howard Stark still hasn’t shown up and Tony has to go. “I’ll be back as soon as it’s over but I gotta go to this meeting.” He quirks a shoulder trying to be nonchalant, “AA meetings have never been so timely.” 

Peter’s sad to see him go, he’d rather him stay here with him. But he also knows that Tony needs to go to a meeting every day now, for the next while, until he’s ready to go back to once a week. Tony’s sobriety is as important to Peter as it is to the man himself, so he smiles, and jokes about not going anywhere.

“I’ll bring some M&Ms or something on the way back, sit tight.” Tony promises, waving goodbye.

Tony takes a bus to the church, the same one he’s been going to for months. It’s just finished raining and the puddles reflect the city’s lights in an almost cinematic kind of way. Tony stuffs his hands into his pockets, walking down the street, the church right at the end when a man emerges from the shadows in front of black property gates. “Mr. Stark.” He calls.

Tony turns around, brows narrowing, “Bloom?” 

Jonathan Bloom is still wearing the sling he got when Justin Hammer’s sister defended herself after he tried to get rough with her. He doesn’t look well, but then again, sick men never do. 

Bloom smiles, but it’s lacking and small, “I know approaching a man like you on his way to a meeting is bad form but,” he laughs, dry, “so is beating a man with his arm in a sling and interrogating him in his own home huh?” 

Tony’s eyes are guarded, his stance shifting to something more defensive, “What do you want? I don’t see any vulnerable women to exploit around here.” He stops, expression mocking, “God, I hope you’re not asking me to the find the ‘real killer’ for those three girls you disappeared back in twenty-ten. Wasn’t one of them your wife?”

Bloom glares, “You sure fucked up my life recently. Told the cops about that girl, the drugs. I’m back in the tabloids, my face is everywhere. The DA’s just _itching_ to charge me with something.” He smirks, “But you’d know all about that huh?”

Tony’s expression doesn’t change, “Yeah, little bit.”

“Well, you’re right. Partly. I _do_ want to hire you.”

Tony turns to walk away, “Yeah sorry, I have a no sadistic asshole policy.”

“I _can_ be connected to those three women who went missing.” Bloom says and Tony stops, not turning around, but not leaving either, “My wife Alicia in twenty-ten and then two girls I partied with, one in twenty-twelve, and the other a year later.” A car honks across the road, “I killed the two girls. 

Tony freezes, then turns around, “What.”

Bloom shrugs, “I didn’t mean to obviously. They just couldn’t handle the rough stuff.” He grimaces, “_Addicts_.” 

“Anyway, I buried them at a property my dad once owned in New Rochelle.”

Tony’s jaw is tight, “You’re confessing to two murders, you realize that right? Why?”

Bloom’s expression changes. The cavalier airiness is replaced by a seriousness that is fierce and unwavering. “Because I didn’t kill my wife. Either someone else did. Or she left me that night and never came back.” 

Tony stares.

“I didn’t kill her and everything everyone said about me was a lie and it hurt. I was good to her. She had nothing, she _came_ from nothing and I gave her everything. I deserved better than that slander. And I want people to know the truth.” 

Tony wants to laugh a little, at the actually bullshit spewing from this guy’s mouth when Bloom pulls out a gun. “You seriously think threatening to shoot me is gonna make me wanna work for you?” 

Bloom snorts, “No, curious bastards like you who stick their noses into places they don’t belong don’t need this.” He raises the gun and Tony’s eyes widen as he runs to him.

But it’s too late.

“But I do.” 

The gun goes off and Bloom slumps to the floor, blood splattered all over the fence. 

Steve takes him back to the precinct to get his statement after the scene’s been processed and Bloom’s body handled. Tony sits in the uncomfortable chair, face still pale. He isn’t sure if he’s tense over what he just saw or because this is the first time he’s been back in the precinct since everything’s happened. 

The first time he’s seen Steve.

“Then he looked at me like he didn’t have a care in the world and then shot himself.” 

Steve looks tired as he scribbles that down, “Anything else?”

“Nada.” 

Steve stops, sets his pen down, “I’m sorry you had to see that.” 

Tony doesn’t say anything.

“Bloom isn’t who I’d call trustworthy, but I’m going to give a call to the New Rochelle police and get someone out onto that property he told you about.” 

But Tony isn’t really paying attention and Steve pauses, “Tony, what’s wrong?”

“The Captain, is he here?”

“Should be in his office.”

Tony stands, jerkily, before looking down at him. “Thanks. For being with Peter in the beginning. I appreciate it.” 

“You don’t have to thank me. He’s one of us.” Steve looks at him meaningfully, “So are you.” 

Tony’s too jittery to smile, but nods at him before heading to Fury’s office. He knocks once before walking in. Fury looks almost surprised to see him.

“Tony.”

“Captain.” Tony nods to himself like he’s psyching himself up, “I came in to apologize.” 

This time Fury does look surprised. 

“Ok come on, I know it doesn’t happen that much but it’s not that rare.” Tony tries to joke but it falls flat. 

Fury gives him a look.

“I know you’ve stuck out your neck for me, that I’ve done some questionable things and you’ve always defended me. Except then I attacked a guy and then relapsed and that looks bad for you and the department because I’m your consultant. And I shouldn’t have done any of it. And I’m sorry.” 

Fury almost seems to soften, he sits down, gestures for Tony to do the same. “Tony…you’re acting like you woke up in the morning and did those things for kicks. You didn’t do something, something happened to you.”

Tony shakes his head, “I could’ve not drank it. I could’ve not hit him.” He pauses, twists his lip, “Well maybe not. But they were my choices.” 

“What happened to you was hard, it would be enough to push anyone over the edge.”

“Maybe. But it pushed me. And I know that it’s been a big black stain on you guys so if there’s something you want to tell me, something you think I was still too all over the place to hear, you can tell me now, because odds are I already know.”

Fury’s eye looks pained as he leans back, “You know?”

“Do I know that even if the DA doesn’t charge me my time consulting here is over? Yeah I know.”

Fury sighs, rubbing at his temple. “I’m sorry Tony. The Chief of Detectives never liked the idea of me adding consultants to the team, this was his perfect excuse to cut you off.” 

Tony purses his lips, resigned. He stands up, nodding at the Captain. “Yeah, I get it. You don’t have to sugar coat it. It’s all my fault anyway.”

Fury stands too, reaching out a hand, “Tony-”

“No really, thanks for everything Nick. It’s been great.”

He rushes out the door so Fury doesn’t see the crushing disappointment in every shadow on his face. 

When Tony gets back to the hospital, Peter is clutching his phone tight. “You’re back!”

“Hey, sorry, I was a little later than I thought.” 

Peter frowns, peering at Tony like he was trying to find clues. “You texted me saying you were at the precinct but I thought we couldn’t do cases until the DA cleared you.”

Tony tries to mask the loss that that just becomes more and more prominent but knows he isn’t’ doing a good job of it. “Pete…I wanted to wait until you were better, but I think we don’t have that kind of luxury.”

“What?? They can’t kick us out! That’s so unfair!” 

Tony shrugs, “It is what it is kid. They needed an excuse and they took it.”

“But if you’re cleared- which you will be by the way- then what does it matter!” Peter shouts, getting increasingly irate at the entire world for constantly ruining anything good he managed to gain.

“Peter we’ll find something else to do. Maybe consult for the FBI or I don’t know,” Tony waves a hand in the air trying to swallow his distaste, “New Jersey.”

“New Jersey?? What are we gonna solve there?? The case of the missing chicken??” 

“We’ll figure it out, we always do.”

“No!” Peter yells and Tony stops, surprised, “I don’t want to figure it out. I don’t want to settle somewhere else. I want what we have now! I want to work cases with Steve and Thor and I want to put up our crime collages above the fireplace and hang out in the TV room and I want to be walking distance from Doughnut Boys and I want to stay in my bedroom and I want to always be annoyed when you blast your music from the basement and- and-”

“Peter-”

“No! I’m sick of it! I’m sick of everything changing just as we figure out a new way to be happy. It happened with Natasha and now it’s happening again and I-” Peter sags inwards, arms crossed around his stomach, “I just want everything to go back to the way it was. And I just want the world to stay out of our lives. I’m sick of it.” 

Tony swallows, feeling guilty and sorry. “I’m sorry Peter. If I could fix it, I would.” 

Tony reaches over to squeeze Peter’s wrist. “But I promise there are other mysteries to solve and other doughnut shops to explore. The house and the department, all those are details, what matters is that we’re doing it together. It’s you and me kid.” 

Peter’s lip turns up, but falls quickly after. “Yeah.” He looks away, “But why can’t we have all the details too.”

Peter is cleared to go home the next morning and the two head back to the brownstone feeling listless and uncertain. How much longer would this be their life? When would it all change? 

Peter flicks on the news and it’s the same story flooding every channel. “Early this morning, police recovered two female bodies from the backyard of a suburban home. Authorities remain tight lipped over their identities, but a source says they’re most likely victims of Jonathan Bloom.”

Tony stops in his tracks, turning to the screen with a hard realization in his eye, “He was telling the truth.”

“What?”

“Bloom, last night, before he killed himself, he told me that’s where he buried those two girls.” Tony looks at the screen again before turning swiftly around, heading down the basement stairs.

Peter stares after him, watching him return with two boxes. “Are those what I think they are?”

“My personal collection of the Bloom crimes dating from when they began? Yup.” 

Peter gapes, “Are you seriously going to do what he asked and clear his name?”

Tony snorts, “No.” Peter almost sighs in relief, “_We_ are.” 

“Mr. Stark!”

Tony sets the boxes down, pulling out all the files, “Pete, two bodies, exactly where he said they’d be.”

“Yeah.” Peter says, in a tone that clearly indicates his distaste, “He was also a pathological liar and a sadist. Maybe he only told you about the girls so he’d get you so worked up about it and look into the only murder he actually cared about.”

Tony waves a file in the air, “You know, there was never any physical evidence connecting him to her disappearance.”

“Mr. Stark, he was all over the tabloids, everyone knew their marriage was bad. He was cheating on her. And she found out.” 

“Yeah. Doesn’t make him a killer.” 

“It’s always the husband! That’s like, rule one-oh-one of actual murder.” 

Tony waves a hand in the air, scoffing.

Peter crosses his arms, “Plus! He couldn’t account for one of his guns, a twenty-two caliber and less than a week before Alicia went missing, he used his home computer to search for ways to dispose of a body.” 

Tony looks unimpressed, “Since when are you a fountain of crime knowledge?”

“Since I stalked him on Google in the hospital after Steve told me what happened.”

They stare at each before Tony scowls, “Fair. But it doesn’t matter, he said he didn’t do it.”

“Oh right, like how he said he didn’t kill those two girls?” 

Tony holds up a newspaper clipping. It’s a photo of another Hispanic woman with the word MISSING written atop of it. “What’s that?” Peter asks, slightly annoyed it only took him three seconds to fall for the bait. 

“Oh this?” Tony says innocently, “Just another missing woman, Maribel Fonseca.” Seeing he had Peter’s attention, Tony had to stop himself from gloating, “She went missing from a motel in Sussex, New Jersey, the same week Alicia vanished.” 

“What’s that have to do with Alicia?”

“Something in the way Bloom said he didn’t do it stuck with me. I don’t know what it is, but it reminded me of Maribel. And then it hit me, what if Alicia was killed by someone else, someone like a serial killer with a type?”

He hands Peter the article, “Like Alicia, Maribel was originally from Honduras, she’s pretty, she’s in her early thirties. Sounds like a type to me.” 

Peter drops his head, sighing loudly, “I can’t believe we’re doing this.” 

Tony whoops, “Knew you’d come around.” 

Their first stop is the motel that Maribel was renting before she disappeared. It’s actually a nice looking place, a very rural cottagey feel with bright paint. The manager is friendly, kind enough to walk them to her old room and explain what had happened. The room obviously wasn’t useful from a clues sense, but helpful for Tony in placing himself in the victim’s setting and frame of mind. The manager locks up behind them, walking them back to his office. “Whatever happened to Ms. Fonseca, there was no way of telling when it happened. Not exactly.” 

Peter tilts his head, “What do you mean?” 

The man shrugs, “Well she checked in on a Monday, said she would check out on Thursday. Only Thursday came and she was a no-show.” 

Tony and Peter nod.

“So I went to her room, saw that she had left her stuff there. I figured she changed her mind, so I left her a message on her room phone, said it was fine, just to let me know when her new departure date would be.” 

“But a couple days went by and no sign of her, that’s when I called the cops.” 

“According to the cops, there were no signs of foul play right?” Tony asks.

“No, just her stuff. The cops poked around a bit and asked me to keep her stuff just in case she came back.” The manager jingles his keys in his hand, unlocking his office and then unlocking a storage closet inside it, “That was five years ago. No one’s come for it.” 

He gestures for them to come in, moving some boxes from the shelves. “Did she mention what she was doing in Sussex?” Peter asks.

The man shakes his head, “When I called the cops a few weeks later, they said she was up from Florida. Said she had no family, worked as a housekeeper.” He turns around holding out a vintage floral print suitcase and a small satchel, “That’s all I know because that’s all the cops ever found out.” 

On their walk to the nearest cafe, Peter’s phone rings from an unknown number with a British area code. Tony groans, “Good God.”

Peter answers it, ready to yell about false commitments when an unfamiliar British voice answers, “Hello Mr. Parker?”

“Yes? Who’s this?”

“My name is James Cook. I work with Mr. Stark, _the_ Mr. Stark, and he wants you to know that something came up so he couldn’t come by yesterday, but you might be seeing him early next week.”

“We _might_ be seeing him?? Why can’t he just commit to something and I don’t know, actually come??” 

Tony blinks in surprise. Peter’s never been the type to be rude, even to people who deserved it. But snarking a total stranger, yelling at Tony, telling off Fury…Tony frowns, watching the creases between Peter’s brows deepen. There’s a simmering anger that lurks right below the surface inside him. An anger that didn’t belong. 

And Tony isn’t sure if it’s because of the helplessness or the loss or the trauma but what he does know is that he has to fix it. 

He’s just not sure how.

“Mr. Stark is very busy. That’s all we can say. We’ll be in touch. Cheers.” 

Peter stares at the phone in barely hidden disgust, “Who does that?? Who says they’re going to come and then just! Just doesn’t show!”

“You gotta learn to not take it so personally Peter. It’s just who he is.” 

Peter growls a little before Tony gently guides him into a happy looking diner. They order some coffees and snacks and set out going through the contents of the bags. Everything they find matches the story the manager told them. They find four changes of clothes for what was supposed to be a four-day trip, some credit card receipts and a few family photos.

They set the photos across the table to study them but Peter isn’t looking convinced, “I get why the cops wouldn’t keep this stuff. It’s not telling me anything.” 

Tony lifts a finger, “Not so fast Pete, I think we have our connection.” 

Tony lifts a photo up of two young girls with their arms wrapped around each other. “I know it’s hard to tell what with the ongoing puberty and all, but that’s Maribel Fonseca,” he declares, pointing to the girl on the right, “and that,” he says, pointing to the left, “is Alicia Bloom. They knew each other.” 

The next morning, there’s an itch inside Peter that won’t go away. A kind of antsy energy that has his foot tapping against the leg of his desk until he finally gives into the urge from a place inside him he used to keep locked. 

He finds what he’s looking for quickly enough and waits until Tony’s in the basement researching more into Alicia and Maribel’s lives before sneaking out the front door. He sends a quick text to Tony so he doesn’t worry- he knows he could never lie to his face- before shoving his phone into his pocket and stalking off to his destination.

He knows this is stupid. Maybe not stupid, but audacious. And reckless. Maybe dangerous. 

Well it always is- biting the hand that feeds you. 

But Peter doesn’t care. Can’t find a single molecule inside of him that gives a single shit because he’s sick of this and sick of _him_ and sick of everything and he’s going to make himself heard and _do something_ about it. 

He’s reached his stop. He makes himself small against the building face and waits. He’s rewarded in twenty minutes (like he knew he’d be) when a sharply dressed man strolls out of the luxury condo, walking right past him. “Mr. Cook.” Peter calls and the man turns around, brows furrowed in non-recognition.

Peter’s expression is hard. “I’m Peter Parker. You called me yesterday.” 

A light flickers in Cook’s eyes and he turns to him. “How did you know where I lived?” 

Peter doesn’t care to answer. “I’m here because I want you to tell your Mr. Stark something.” 

The man scoffs, half turning. “He has a secretary. Many actually.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who called me.” 

The man sighs, “Fine. What do you want me to say?” 

Peter tilts his chin, eyes defiant, “You can tell him that he can either come visit us or he can leave us the hell alone. What he _can’t_ do, is threaten to come and then never show.” 

Cook looks taken aback by his candor, like it’s never crossed his mind that someone could be so bold, “Mr. Stark is a busy man.” 

“Yeah?” Peter says, cocking his head, “So are we.” 

Something cruel sparks in Cook’s eye as his lip twists, “Can an addict really be busy?” he shrugs, “I mean, I suppose getting the bottle is a bit of work but then just drinking it should be-”

Peter takes a step forward, jaw tight, entire body coiled like a spring aching to burst. “I think you better stop talking.” 

Cook raises a brow, “Or what.” 

When Peter takes another step forward, he doesn’t hide his satisfaction when Cook takes a step back. “I think you know what.” He lets his words hang in the air for a moment, “Tell Mr. Stark what I said. Or I’ll come back. And you don’t want me coming back.” 

And with one last look, Peter pulls his jacket hood over his head and walks away. But the anger inside him only boils hotter and hotter.

When he gets home, Tony’s just getting off the phone. “You okay?” Tony asks, looking like something isn’t right.

Peter shrugs his jacket off, hanging it on the hook before grinning, “Yeah, of course. Don’t be weird.”

“I’m not being weird, _you’re_ being weird.” 

Peter just rolls his eyes fondly, walking closer to wrap Tony up in a bear hug for a second that goes by quicker than it should’ve. Tony looks surprised at the affection but doesn’t comment.

“So who were you on the phone with?”

Tony frowns for a second before answering. “Alicia’s aunt. She still lives in the city Alicia and Maribel grew up in, San Pedro Sula.”

Peter raises a brow.

“She was just telling me how the girls met. It’s not a happy story.”

Peter sighs, “They never are.”

“In ninety-five, when they were just fifteen, their families and a bunch of other ones paid a coyote to get them through Central America and Mexico to bring them to America. Except, it didn’t go to plan because a week into their journey, they were stopped by members of the Mexican Escarra Cartel.” There’s a quiet disgust in Tony’s eyes, a desire to avenge those so horribly wronged, “Turns out the coyote had pocketed the fee he normally paid to travel through Escarra territory and was trying to sneak them through.”

“The soldiers walked them to a ditch and when they realized they were going to get slaughtered, Alicia and Maribel and everyone who could made a break for a wooded area.” Tony looks away, “The Escarra men fired at them and when the dust settled, Alicia and Maribel were the only survivors.”

Peter’s eyes widen in grief.

“The girls ran back to the nearest town and brought the Mexican police to the scene. But all that was left was a ditch full of burnt corpses.” Tony’s lips fall, “Obviously, the girls made it to the U.S; Alicia through marrying Bloom and Maribel through the green card lottery. But according to Alicia’s aunt, they only stayed in touch for a short while after the massacre. The older they got, the more they went their separate ways.”

Peter bites his lips, “They fell out of touch but they both disappeared around the same time. You think the cartel found them?” 

Tony shakes his head, “No way. It wouldn’t make sense. If the cartel wanted them dead, they would’ve found them a long time ago.” He strokes his beard, “Plus, cartels tend to make their killings giant statements. It wouldn’t fit their brand to hide the bodies.” 

Peter’s mulling that over when Tony’s phone pings, “Ah, gotta jet. I got an old friend to get Maribel’s cell phone and credit card info from before she disappeared. Hopefully it’ll tell us why she went to Jersey.”

Peter sighs, “It really sucks being off the force huh?”

Tony makes a face, “Hey, no sulking. We’ll solve this without them just you and me. Which is why you need to go a Honduran restaurant in New Jersey called Novena Vida.” 

“Why there?”

“The receipts from Maribel’s bags. One of them showed her eating there a week before she disappeared. I’m hoping she talked to someone there, maybe a staff member. Her or Alicia. Because as it turns out, Alicia ate there the day before Maribel left for Florida.”

Peter’s eyes catch his, “And no such thing as coincidences, right?” 

Tony ruffles his hair. “Look at that, you’re already a pro.” 

Tony walks briskly through the little park until he reaches the fountain where four benches are placed neatly around it. On one of them is a man with thick silver hair and a grey mustache. “You’re late.” The man says.

“Sorry.” Tony says easily, “Got caught up in something.”

“It’s bad manners isn’t it? To make the guy you ought to be thanking wait for you?”

In mock deference, Tony gestures like he’s bowing, “My deepest apologies Agent Ross. Sorry that you violated the privacy of an American citizen for me.” 

Ross scowls, hand him a file. “This makes us even for London.” 

“By London you mean when I realized a member of your agency was about to break into the offices of a British newspaper?” 

Ross shrugs, “Yeah. That.” 

Once Ross is sure Tony has what he came for, he makes no show of staying. Ross gets up, turns to look at him, “You helped us out, so I helped you. Take care Stark.”

Tony lifts a hand, “Wait.” 

Ross looks at him, “I’m sure you know about me and the NYPD’s breakup.” Tony starts. 

Ross looks almost amused, “You’re asking me for a job?” 

“No.” Tony says pointedly, “I’m doing you the favor of letting you know about our availability. I’m weighing my options, considering some other agencies too.” 

“Weren’t you just saying that all the NSA does is violate other people’s rights?” 

Tony shrugs, “Sometimes you guys do something good.” 

Ross turns to him, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “Stark, you really think any agency is going to want you? You’re toxic goods. For fuck’s sake you beat a guy and oh yeah, you’re an alcoholic.” 

“We’re not pariahs.” Tony argues.

“No, you’re liabilities.” Ross looks at him, “But hey, now you have time. Time to get better. Maybe this is just what you need.” 

Tony falls silent and Ross walks away. 

The restaurant Tony sends Peter too is honestly really nice. It has a large outdoor patio that would be lovely in the summertime, but for now, it’s too chilly to be anywhere but inside. The greeter is happy to bring over the owner, Juan Morillo, over to talk to him. 

The two sit at one of the tables at the back and Peter slides over two photos, one of Alicia and one of Maribel. Juan sighs deeply, leaning back in his chair with heavy eyes. “Yeah, I recognize her.” He says, pointing to Alicia, “She’s been in the news a lot. She was married to that guy,” he waves his hand around, “the scummy one.”

Peter’s lip turns up in a wry half-smile, “Jonathan Bloom. Yeah.” He taps the table, “But you didn’t know her?”

Juan shakes his head, “No, why?” 

“Well she drove up here from New York in May twenty-ten and had lunch here. I thought maybe she was a regular.” 

But there’s no spark of recognition in Juan’s eyes, “No sorry.” 

“And what about this woman?” Peter asks, sliding the second photo more forward, “Maribel Fonseca. She came a couple days after Alicia. Do you remember her?” 

An odd expression passes over Juan’s face, like something’s bothering him. “Yeah, I do. But it’s weird, it’s like déjà vu or something.”

Peter leans forward, “What do you mean?”

Juan lets out an almost amused breath, “It’s funny. I remember her because she came in here doing exactly what you’re doing now. Showing me pictures.” 

Peter’s eyes narrow, attention piqued.

“Except hers were of a man.” Juan’s voice drops to something serious, “She wanted to know if I had seen him. She wanted to find him.”

“Who was it? And why did she want to find him?” Peter asks, fervent.

Juan shrugs, “She never told me. But I remember what he looked like, he was very tall, handsome. I said I thought I saw him at the bar once or twice.”

An idea flickers in the back of Peter’s mind, but he’d need Tony’s opinion first.

“Hey I’m home!” Peter yells, slipping off his shoes.

“In the living room.” Tony calls.

“I brought us some dinner from Novena Vida.” 

Tony looks away from the computer screen in curiosity, “You know, I’ve never tried Honduran food before.”

Peter hides a laugh. “You’ve tried an insect buffet but not Honduran food??” 

Tony shrugs, “There was a promotion.” 

Peter snorts, handing over one of the take out containers to his mentor, taking a seat on the couch. “So I went and scoped the place out. It was just a regular restaurant, nothing special about the owner either.” Peter looks pointedly at Tony, “And yes I looked for weird things, but he looks like every other average Joe. Anyway, apparently, he recognized Maribel and said she came into the restaurant that time to show him some photos of a Latino man in his thirties who was very tall and apparently really good-looking.” 

“Name?” Tony prods, sticking his fork into the tajadas. 

Peter sighs, maybe more dramatically than necessary, “No, she didn’t say why she wanted him either.”

Tony makes a face, “Pete, she wanted to kill him.” He says in probably the most obnoxiously nonchalant tone known to man, “Guaranteed.” 

“What??”

“Maribel and Alicia weren’t just old friends, they were murder buddies. Killer sisters. Ladies of the knife.” Tony pauses, grinning, “That one was actually pretty clever.”

Peter rolls his eyes.

“Anyway, if you look at Maribel’s credit card and phone history and combine it with Alicia’s phone records, you get a pretty good timeline of what went down. May first, Maribel gets a call from Alicia in Florida. The next day, she’s on a plane to Newark, which means what?”

“Uhhh, that maybe they weren’t actually out of touch.”

Tony points his spoon at him, “Bingo. So then, on the third, Maribel goes to the Novena Vida in New Jersey. Next day, she goes to the hardware store and buys a tarp, two pairs of rubber gloves, two shovels, and several gallons of industrial strength drain cleaner.”

Peter groans, “Crap. That’s literally what you’d buy if you googled how to get away with murder.” Peter’s head shoots up, “Oh my God! Someone _did_ do that!! We thought it was Jonathan Bloom but-”

Tony nods, “It was Alicia the whole time. Which means that she’s also the reason why his twenty-two caliber gun went missing. That was her contribution to their murder plot.”

Tony takes a bite, swallowing hard. “I think, that whoever the girls were trying to find, they got to him. Only something went wrong. Instead of being the murderers, they became the victims.”

Peter’s quiet for a minute, mulling everything over. “So we have the victims and the motive behind _their_ deaths, but we still don’t know what _their_ motive was for killing their would be killer.” He looks up, already ready to whine, “This case is just- so weird.”

“Peter please, it’s literally been weirder.”

“Name _one_ more-”

“The girl with the flowers on the subway.” 

Tony stares.

Peter stares back. And then throws his hands up, “Fine! That was weirder! Gosh that guy was nuts.”

“Yup.” 

“But!” Tony says, “We actually don’t know nothing. Novena’s owner said they were looking for a Latino man. We already know Alicia and Maribel were bonded for life because their families were brutally killed by the Escarra cartel. Yesterday, you said maybe the cartel found them. I’m thinking maybe _they_ went looking for an Escarra.” 

Tony and Peter end up in Riverview Correctional Facility. The waiting room is dingy and off-putting and nothing about the place screams rehabilitative in any sense of the word. The two of them are already seated, having signed in and put in their request, but the line to do the same only gets longer. 

Tony stares at the people fiddling with their phones or their purses, a gut-wrenching turn of his lip, so slight and imperceptible, only Peter could notice it. Tony hopes he doesn’t though. Can’t let him notice how much this reality devastates him. Crushes him right down to his core to everything that matters. 

He sees a mother put her hand against her teenage son’s back. His eyes are hard, but Tony sees the vulnerability there, the woe of this being his life. Is it his father in here? A brother? An uncle? Does he miss him? Or does he hate and despise and curse at his criminal relative and everything that went with leaving him behind. 

Tony glances at Peter quickly and that’s his undoing.

“Hey.” Peter says, “Stop picturing me in that line waiting to visit you.” 

And there it is again, that uncharacteristic steel in his voice, the magma that’s slowly cooling into something more permanent like stone. 

“I’d rather you didn’t honestly.” Tony says breezily, “I look awful in orange.” 

“First of all, of course I’d visit you. And second of all, it doesn’t even matter because you’re not going to prison.”

Tony lets out a breath, turning to face him, “Peter, we have to start thinking about-”

“Tony Stark? Peter Parker? You can see him now.” A voice interrupts. 

Tony’s lip pulls but he sighs, standing up and gesturing for Peter to do the same, “We’ll talk about it later.”

But Peter is steadfast behind him, “No we won’t. Because it won’t happen.” 

Andres Zuniga grins, throwing his hands in the air, when he sees them walk through the door, “It’s your lucky day!” He calls, “I did it!”

Tony’s expression is blank, “Did what?”

“Whatever it is you came here to talk about.” Andres lowers his arms, “You got me fam.” 

Tony notes Peter’s incredulous expression and pulls out his chair, “I thought we covered this but, gang one-oh-one, members tend to confess to crimes other members did if they’re already in jail because what the hell.” Tony pauses, “The perks on the inside though and the support for their families outside helps too.” 

Andres smiles happily until Tony leans forward, apologetic, “Unlucky for you, we’re not here to accuse you of anything.”

“Then what the hell am I doing here, the game’s on.” Andres complains. 

“Four Escarra soldiers massacred a group of Honduran immigrants, the only two survivors were Alicia Garcia and Maribel Fonseca. In twenty-ten, we believe the two women found one of the men responsible and planned to kill him.” 

Andres is still looking at them like he doesn’t understand why he’s here.

“I know you used to be a lieutenant back when you were out, so I want you to help us ID the man they were after.” 

“Apparently he was tall, good looking and in his late thirties.” Peter adds.

“And he also ate at Novena Vida a lot.” Tony says, turning to Andres.

The man juts out his lip, thinking before perking up, “You know, it’s ringing a bell. You must be talking about Benicio. Had to be him.”

“Benicio who?”

Andres smiles, “Del Toro.” 

Tony rolls his eyes, “You might have gotten away with that with any other white guy but unfortunately for you, I’m one of those annoying genius types who likes to do their homework. Benicio Del Toro is an actor.” 

The man loses his smile, but just shrugs, miming zipping his mouth shut.

“You wanna play like that? That’s fine.” Tony leans into the table, eyes intense, “Your wife and nineteen year old son live in Juarez right?”

Andres’ eyes snap up.

“When I leave here, I’m going to wire them a hundred grand.”

The man laughs, sinking further into his seat like he hadn’t a care in the world, “You can’t bribe me man.”

Tony’s voice is cold, “Prison hasn’t done a thing for your critical thinking skills huh? That’s not a bribe, it’s a threat.” Tony’s expression turns mock sincere, “Your cartel, they’ve been good to your family so far, your son’s even being groomed to be a higher-up soon. But what if they suddenly got a hundred grand along with a super showy and dramatic thank you from a NYPD consultant.”

Andres’ eyes narrow, his body no longer loose and relaxed, but coiled and tensed. 

“How do you think the cartel would react to that? Would they send someone to snuff you in prison? What about your family?” Tony leans back in his chair, “I think Maribel and Alicia would’ve reminded you of how thorough the cartel can be.”

Andres’ breathing gets heavier and Tony takes one look at him before standing, “Come on Peter, he’s not gonna tell us anything.”

He takes one step before Andres’ voice stops him, “Wait. I know the names of the four guys who did that. But that’s all they are now. Names.”

Tony turns around, “What does that mean?”

Andres sighs, “After that attack, the police waged a full out war with us. We lost a lot of our guys, including the ones you’re after. None of them could’ve been in New Jersey in twenty-ten.” 

“Ok, you’re good. Really good.” Tony nods, “I’m going to wire your family two-hundred grand.”

“I’m telling you the truth.” Andres insists, “And I’m also going to tell you that you’re wrong. It wasn’t just those two girls that survived.” Tony’s brows furrow, gaze snapping to him, “The coyote, he survived too. Maybe he’s the one they saw.” 

Peter wrinkles his nose, looking unconvinced, “They kill everyone _but_ the guy who ripped them off??”

Andres’ lip twists, “A good coyote’s hard to find. Immigrants?” and in his eyes is the pain of a country stuck in a chokehold, “They never run out.” 

Tony’s eyes dig into him, “I need a name.”

“All I have is a nickname. El Gato.” 

The drive back home is quiet as Tony and Peter ruminate in what Andres told them. Tony hangs his jacket on the hook, turning slightly to Peter, “Assuming what he said was true, we have our work cut out for us. We have to find a coyote named El Gao active in San Pedro Sula in the mid-nineties and up here in twenty-ten.”

Peter is quiet, “I don’t know how we didn’t think of him before to be a suspect. If he hadn’t kept the payment money, none of those people would have died. It’s his fault their families died.” Peter stops, thinking of May. “_I_ should’ve thought it.”

Tony frowns in sympathy, squeezing Peter’s arm in reassurance, “We’ll find him. Hopefully he’s as dumb as his street name.” He sneers, “Honestly, the _cat_.” 

Tony looks like he’s about to go off on a rant when his phone rings. They glance at his screen and Peter grins at his expense, “Miss. Pepper!” 

Tony shoves him away, glaring at him while Peter bounces like a puppy. “Hey Pep, how’s it going?”

“Tony! Something happened. Something huge.”

Tony immediately tenses, gripping the phone tighter, “What is it? Are you okay?” 

“The DA, he decided not to press charges. You’re not going to prison! Tony isn’t that amazing?”

Tony stops, just looks at Peter with shimmering eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Definitely.”

“Holy shit. Pep, I could kiss you.” 

“Sorry Tony, that’s reserved for the end of a first date only.” 

Peter’s eyes widen like saucers as he bites down on his hand to keep from screeching. Tony turns to him, expression panicked and Peter gestures for him to go on, “ASK HER OUT!” He whisper hisses. “DO IT!!!” 

“That could be arranged you know.” Tony starts, looking down at his hands like they’re the most interesting things in the world. “Maybe some dinner, somewhere nice. Italian maybe. Or Italy. If you’re into that. Then I don’t know, we can compare cases and see who’s more badass? If you’re up for defeat.”

Pepper’s voice is wry and amused on the other end, “I think you’ll find I’m quite the competitor.” 

Tony smirks. “Oh I’m counting on it.”

There’s a pause and then, “Alright. Friday, at seven. You can pick me up.”

When Tony hangs up, he turns right around and walks right past Peter, “We’re not talking about it.”

“What? That you’re in looooveee?” Peter sing songs, cackling as Tony covers his ears.

“I’ll ground you! Don’t think I won’t!” 

“That wouldn’t impress Miss. Pepper. It’s unjust.” Peter retorts with mock seriousness.

“Oh my God go bother someone else. In fact, go bother Steve. Someone has to go pick up all the stuff we’ve left there and it’s probably better it isn’t me.”

Peter crosses his arms, “Fine. But I’m definitely gonna still bother you about this. And-wait. Oh my God. We didn’t even celebrate you not going to prison!” He backtracks, “Not that I thought you were ever gonna go. Of course you weren’t. But still!” 

Peter lunges at Tony, wrapping his arms tightly around him. He tries to play it off as a boisterous bear hug but he can’t help but go completely still, leaning all his weight onto Tony’s solid presence, arms curved around the back that promised to shield him from everything- even when they both knew he couldn’t. 

Peter had friends and he had people who loved him. He had Ned and MJ. And he had Dr. Strange and Steve and Thor and even the Captain. But in every way that mattered sometimes, all he had was Tony. 

Tony is his home.

His family.

…His dad.

And so Peter holds him, arms unconsciously holding on tighter and tries to etch into his brain what it feels like to still have everything be okay. 

Tony hugs him back, his cheek pressed atop his head, “We’re fine now kiddo. We’re okay. We’re okay.” 

Peter packs all their stuff still left in the precinct all in one box, heaving it off the desk in the conference room. He looks around at the bullpen, still hustling and bustling and knows in his heart he’s going to miss it. A lot honestly. 

Being a detective has been the most rewarding thing he’s ever done. Ever. There would be no greater satisfaction than bringing criminals who ruined lives and broke apart families to justice. Other than maybe preventing them before they could begin. 

But that was impossible. 

He walks out, heading for the door when an amused voice behind him stops him. Steve reaches over his shoulder to tug out a stuffed squirrel, “Please tell me how a dead squirrel played into a case.”

Peter laughs, shaking his head, “It’s honestly a stupidly long story.” 

Steve smiles back, before he looks away, almost looking guilty. “If I find any more of your stuff I’ll let you know.” 

“Thanks. We appreciate it.” 

“We’re going to miss you Peter. You and Tony. Things won’t be the same.” Steve says, eyes true and sincere.

Peter’s lips turn up, “Oh come on, everyone hates Mr. Stark.”

Steve snorts, “That’s fair. Me and Thor then.” He lets out a breath, “You know we think they’re making the wrong call. I tried talking the brass out of it, but they wouldn’t listen.” 

Peter looks away before mustering up a smile, “It’s okay. I’m sure you tried.” 

“No. It’s not okay. But I know you two. You’ll find something.”

Peter hopes the smile doesn’t look too forced. “Yeah…”

When Peter gets home, Tony has an odd look in his eye. “Mr. Stark?”

“I just got off the phone with a homicide detective in San Pedro Sula. Someone’s been lying to us and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t him- no matter how much of an asshole he was.” 

Curious now, Peter falls onto the desk chair, rolling his way over to him, “What’d he say?” 

“He confirmed El Gato was operating there at the right time, but they never found out his real name, but they _did_ get over a dozen witness statements that described him pretty consistently in nineteen-ninety-five.” Tony’s eyes darken, “Average height, jowly, receding hairline.” Peter freezes, “Perfectly average in every way.” 

“But Juan said it was a tall handsome guy.”

“He also said the coyote would be thirty. But if the detective is right, he should be in his fifties.” Tony gets up, “Wanna hear another interesting tidbit? Novena Vida translates to the ninth life. As in the nine lives a cat has.” 

They call the New Jersey PD to meet them at Novena Vida and get there just as the cops pull up. “What’s going on?” Juan asks, walking out the front door onto the patio.

“Oh nothing.” Tony says, “Just wanted to show you a video.”

Tony turns the tablet to him, where a black and white security cam video plays of a man in a mask holding a gun at Juan. It’s an attempted robbery, except that Juan smacks the man’s arm away, grabbing his wrist and smashing it into the edge of the counter until the gun falls from his hands.

Juan crosses his arms, “Why are you showing me this?”

“That’s the video that went viral of you fighting off a guy who tried to rob you.”

“Yeah,” Juan says, still looking bemused, “my cook posted it. Said he was proud me. I didn’t like it, but it brought us some extra business.”

Tony’s lip pulls, “Yeah well it brought you some bad press too. Alicia Garcia-Bloom saw that video and recognized you as El Gato- the coyote hired by her parents before your actions cost them their lives.”

Juan furrows his brows, “What?”

“That’s why she came here. To see if it was really you.” Peter says quietly, “And you lied to me before. Maribel Fonseca never talked to you or showed you pictures. She just came here to size you up.” 

Juan doesn’t say anything. “You told me she was looking for a tall, handsome man, but that was just to keep us away from looking at you.”

“Good job by the way.” Tony adds, “Really threw us off the scent. You’re about as opposite of that as you could get. Definitely more mashed up oatmeal than tall, dark, and handsome.” 

“Anyway,” Tony continues, “Maribel and Alicia wouldn’t come after you here, they obviously knew about the security cameras. I’m betting they followed you home and then tried to ambush you. But you got the upper hand and suddenly you had two bodies to bury.” 

Tony tilts his head, “Tell me, if the cops went to search your place, would they find two graves in your front lawn?” 

Juan takes a step back, voice rising, “It was self-defense! You said it yourself!”

Tony shrugs, “Yeah, true. And it probably won’t be enough to arrest you in an American court.” His eyes glitter, “But did you know that the USA and Honduras have a mutual extradition treaty?”

Juan’s eyes widen.

“There’s a warrant for your arrest for the murder of a competing coyote and his wife in San Pedro Sula in nineteen-ninety nine.” Peter says, expression cold, “If you thought were internet famous before, just wait.” 

The police take over from there and Peter and Tony walk back to their car feeling almost optimistic. “The New Jersey PD weren’t so bad.” Tony comments, hands in his pockets.

Peter wrinkles his nose, “Really?”

“Why not? It’s a big state, probably some good crimes.”

“Well…it beats freelancing I guess.” 

Tony snorts, bumping his shoulder into Peter’s who laughs, pushing him away. “That’s the spirit.” 

When they get home, Tony’s phone pings and the oddest expression crosses his face. A mix of incredulity and apprehension. 

“Mr. Stark?” 

“Nothing. I just thought of an assignment for you.” He says quickly, “I bought the unpickable lock a couple days ago, it’s in the basement on my work table. I want you to crack it.”

“…But…isn’t it…unpickable?”

Tony wrinkles his nose, “I refuse to believe it. Go do me proud kiddo.” 

Peter shrugs, heading down into the basement, leaving Tony to stand in the middle of the foyer before he takes a deep breath and walks up the stairs. There’s a door that leads to another set of stairs that takes him all the way up to the roof. The sunset spills out onto the sky like a pot of ink tipped over. It’s stunning. 

But all Tony can see is him. 

The man doesn’t turn around, “I forgot how lovely the view is from up here.” 

Something coils in Tony’s stomach as he walks over to where he’s standing. “You really came all the way here to talk about the sky?”

His father turns to him, assessing him with his usual emotionless eyes, “You don’t look well Tony.” 

Tony resists the urge to make a face, “You look as great as ever. Must be all the virgin blood you bathe in.” He says cheerfully. 

“I see the alcoholism hasn’t killed your wit.” Howard Stark says drily. 

“Old age hasn’t withered yours either.” Tony shoots back. 

“You know, this might come as a surprise to you Tony. But I didn’t actually come here to share insults with you.” 

And ah there it is, that famous tone that still made Tony want to shrivel into a ball and hide deep under the covers. But he’s a father now too and thinking about Peter makes him stand straighter because he knows that for all his flaws, he wasn’t ever Howard. And for all his shortcomings, he doesn’t think he’s ever made Peter afraid. 

Maybe afraid for him. But never of him. 

“Then why did you come here dad?”

Howard turns to him, imposing in his stature, “Why do we ever meet like this? You’ve made a mess Tony. I’m here to fix it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the first arc begins! And foreshadowing for the second...


	3. The Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I'm super aware that it's been forever since I updated and I'm sorry. Things have been so chaotic and I lost a bit of motivation for this but I just want to emphasize that the absolute nicest, sweetest, most encouraging person in the world a.k.a Josi, left a comment on this fic and I remembered why this fic was so fun to write and that I really, really wanted to take you guys on a wild ride and anyway, I just wanted a public declaration that I love her and that this chapter is dedicated to you!<3
> 
> I'd also like to dedicate this to everyone who's always supported this world and encouraged me to finish it. Notably, CassG, jwriter819, crayons-and-quills, romanholidayinn, mountain-spiderling, and starfire03 and I'm sure i'm forgetting people. but thank you!!

Tony looks away, eyes trained firmly on the skyline. “You know, they invented phones for a reason. You didn’t have to come all the way over here just to remind me about our agreement.” 

Howard sighs, “You never got any better at listening did you?”

“Oh I listened to you. Too much probably.” Tony snarks, “But I know you’re too busy to have patience for weakness, _that_ hasn’t changed. Peter and I will pack up our stuff to go tonight.” 

Tony turns on his heel to go before Howard grabs him by his arm. “Tony. I told you. I’m here to help.”

Tony glances down at Howard’s grip before making an incredulous face, “Right. Because that’s your MO. Hand-outs.” 

“I help _you_.” 

Tony’s face drops in disdain, “Well colour me confused.” 

Howard lets him go, voice loud. “Who put you into rehab? Who gave you a house? Who gave you a start in life when you let yourself get dragged to the bottom?”

Tony lets out a hard breath, unable to deny any of those things. “So why are you here then?”

The wind whooshes behind them. “Give me the word, and I’ll get you reinstated at the NYPD.” Howard declares, and it’s all Tony not to fall over in shock. 

Tony stops, mouth opening and then closing, for once robbed of words. “_What?_”

Howard looks at him, eyes piercing, “You know how disappointed I was when you turned your back on Stark Industries. You could’ve been the greatest R&D Director there ever was. I know you only did it to spite me.” Tony’s jaw clicks like he’s prepped to fight but Howard just raises a hand, “But then you started consulting with Scotland Yard. And I thought maybe you’d finally turned a new leaf.”

His eyes harden, “But then you spiraled and I lost all faith in you. I put you in New York to keep you out of my sight, I’ll admit that.” 

Tony flinches. He’d always known that- how could he not? 

But to hear it, loud and clear, out in the open…it reminds him of what it was like to be small and silent. To have a shadow loom over you your whole life. To have no control.

And no love.

Stark men are made of iron. Tony’s been told all his life that he’s made of nothing but earth. 

“But you surprised me.” Howard acquiesces, “You flourished here.”

“Yup. A whole five days sober.” Tony flashes a peace sign.

“I’m not talking about the past week Tony.” Howard snaps, “I’m talking about the past year. You’ve done some incredible work here. I respect your efforts.”

And Tony hates himself a little. For how much he wishes his next words will be “I’m proud of you.” 

But they aren’t.

And they wouldn’t ever be. And Tony needs to stop hoping for it. 

“I have contacts here. Contacts who tell me about the relationships you built here. How important they are to your sobriety. And how important the casework is.” 

Tony purses his lips. “I have Peter. And I have my sponsor. And it’s not like the NYPD has a monopoly on cases.” 

“Peter…” Howard leaves the name hanging in the air like he’s tasting them, “Will you still need an assistant if you’re no longer doing cases?” Howard phrases it like it’s almost a threat and it hits Tony suddenly that for all the great Howard Stark’s network’s abilities, they hadn’t been able to find out the one thing that really mattered.

“He isn’t my assistant. He’s my kid.” Tony states, and tries not to smile when he sees Howard’s face go slack.

“I beg your pardon?” 

Tony stuffs his hands in his pockets, shrugging, “I didn’t knock a girl up and have him show up on my doorstep if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s the usual story. Aunt gets murdered, jaded detective solves the case with an upbeat teen and then said teen moves in.” His lip turns up, almost fondly, “One thing led to another and boom. Congratulations, you’re a grandpa. Hopefully you’re better at that than you were at being a dad.” Tony grins, but there’s no humor, “Statistically, that’s the more likely scenario. Everyone says it’s better being a grand-parent than a-”

“How could you not consult me before doing this??” Howard demands. 

Tony blinks. “_What?_ I’m sorry. Am I getting early onset dementia already or did you not just say you literally threw me here to keep me out of sight and out of mind. Why would I consult you about anything??” His face twists, “Fuck, we haven’t even spoken in years. Jarvis was the one who _did_ everything.” 

“Do _not_ take that tone with me.” Howard says, voice low, but Tony knows the anger that hides within it. 

“Peter’s legally my son. If you can’t deal with that, then you know where the door is.”

Howard stares at him for a long, long time. Slowly, his aggression fades. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.” He repeats, “I meant what I said. I want to instate you back into the NYPD. If you and…” he pauses, like it physically pains him to finish his sentence, “Peter…want that. And I want you to stay in the house.” 

“Thank you.” Tony finally says, “Peter wanted to stay.”

“So I’ll put in the call then?”

Tony holds up a hand, “Not so fast.”

Howard’s confused, like he isn’t used to being told no. And Tony knows for a fact that he isn’t. “I thought you wanted to go back?” 

“I have to talk to Peter first.” Tony says, something Howard can’t discern in his eyes.

“Very well. You should introduce me to him while you’re at it. It’s about time I meet the child I keep hearing so much about.”

Tony wishes he wasn’t right.

“Not yet. I don’t want to spring this on him. You can talk to him after I do.” 

In a testing room inside a laboratory, a television screen blares. Images of hospital rooms, bombings, dead fish washed up on shore, and screaming women flash across the screen as a monotonous voice drones over the orchestra music, “Modern day democracy is failing. Agree or disagree?”

A monitor blinks as different areas of the brain light up on it. A man sitting in a chair with wires taped around his skull glances at it before his fingers dig into the chair arms. “Dr. Sarkisian? I- I need a break.” His voice cracks in the silence.

No one answers and the television keeps playing. “Seriously, I don’t wanna ruin your study but I can’t be in this room a second longer.”

Still nothing. 

“Hey, anyone there??”

When no one answers again, the man lets out a breath, pulling the wire headset off of him and twisting in the chair when the sound of machine gun fire stops him. “Hello??” he calls again, but through the window, he only sees blank computer screens. 

He walks closer to the glass before his hand shoots to his mouth and he doubles over- bile in his throat. 

Both scientists are flat on the ground, eyes glassy, blood pooling beneath them. “Oh God. Oh God.” The man stumbles back, inching to the door when it opens.

“What the-”

Another gunshot. 

The television blares on. 

The next morning- still congratulating himself on smuggling his father out without Peter noticing- Tony feels like a man on a mission. Ross never got back to him about the job offer though Tony knew it was a no. He was sure MI6 would be quick to grab him if he offered, but they were also in London and he couldn’t do that to Peter, at least not for now. The CIA would be a solid bet, but he didn’t have a lot of higher level contacts there and the people he _did_ know weren’t too keen on intervening on his behalf. That really only left one agency and well…beggers couldn’t be choosers now can they?

He wakes Peter up without aplomb, flopping on his bed, legs sprawled out, “Pete, get up, we have a job.” 

Peter groans, turning over so his back faced Tony, “We got fired. I can sleeeeep.” He mumbles.

“Actually, we have a try-out. More like an audition actually. So chop chop, we don’t have all day.”

Peter blinks, rubbing at his eye, poking his head up to look at him, “What?”

“I know a guy in the FBI, Phil Coulson. He’s kinda stuffy, but should be alright. Kinda like Steve-lite, but without the dork-quality and the je ne sais quoi.” 

Peter stares, still too tired to really absorb any of what was going on. 

“Anyway,” Tony says curtly, “there’s a triple homicide- three dead at a neuro-economics lab in Harlem. Some top secret tech was stolen.” Tony grins, “I’ve convinced him that we were one hundred percent essential to understand neuro-economics.”

Peter frowns, “I don’t even know what that means. Do _you?_”

Tony wrinkles his nose, “God no. But that’s what Google’s for. So up and at ‘em, let’s go!” 

Peter groans loudly again, pulling himself out of bed like he had his own personal gravity. 

Tony flicks him playfully, “I thought you’d be a bit more excited.”

Peter glares, “I was up until three last night working on that stupid lock and you know it.” 

“But you cracked it.”

Peter tries to deepen his frown before his façade cracks and he can’t help but grin, “Hell yeah I did.” 

Tony gets up to ruffle his hair before heading downstairs, “That’s the spirit.” 

Special Agent Phil Coulson is exactly how Peter thought he would be. A little stiff, a little formal. Peter elbows Tony in the kidney, “Hey,” he hisses, “doesn’t he kinda look like Kevin from Brooklyn Nine Nine?” 

Tony makes a face before squinting harder at Coulson, who’s still fiddling with his phone a few metres away. “Wait- I don’t know why I’m looking. I’ve still never seen it.”

Peter looks aghast, “You told me that you did!”

“No. I said I was _probably_ going to.”

“You fully said you did!” 

“I absolutely did n- Hey! My favourite agent! How’s it hanging?” Tony breaks out into a smile, waving as Coulson looks up with an almost resigned glint in his eyes.

“Ah, Mr. Stark, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” 

Tony grins rakishly, “Oh I bet. And this is Peter Parker, my assistant.” 

“Right. Yes.” Coulson holds out his hand and Peter hopes his own isn’t as clammy as he thinks it is.

Coulson makes absolutely zero expression, which just stresses Peter out all the more but, he just tries to look as pleasant as possible and hope they just move the hell on. “Thank you for inviting us on your case.” Peter says, trying to look professional.

Coulson grimaces, “About that. I need to lay out a few ground rules. I know you had a lot of latitude at the NYPD, but here, you go where I go and that’s it. Can we all agree to that?”

Peter glances at Tony from the corner of his eye and he can literally see how much it pains him for him to nod. Peter’s gaze shoots to the floor. 

He really misses the precinct. 

“Okay, so we have two dead scientists, one dead test subject, and seven hard drives stolen.” Coulson turns around, beckoning them to follow with his hand, “Janitors found the bodies early this morning.” 

“Lemme guess, one of the stolen computers also had the surveillance video on it right?” 

Coulson sighs, “Looks like it.”

“And what’s on the other six is the reason why the FBI has this case and not the NYPD?” Peter asks.

Coulson looks mildly surprised that he spoke up but nods, “Yeah, but I’ll let DARPA explain that to you. They just arrived.” 

The two DARPA agents shake their hands before getting right into it. The man points at himself, “I’m Deputy Director Samuel Meher,” he points to his partner, a young woman with a cane, “this lovely lady is Amanda Cleaver, our Head of Special Projects.”

“So what’s DARPA doing in a little place like this?” Tony asks, cutting to the chase.

“We fund hundreds of projects,” Amanda says, “but these researchers were doing something special.” Her gaze tightens into something more serious, “This is more than a tragedy for their families, this is a tragedy to the way we understand the human brain.” 

Tony doesn’t look impressed, “I’m sure you can tell us more than _that_.”

“You guys know anything about neuro-economics?” Samuel asks, brow raised.

“He’s an expert!” Peter pipes in, trying to hide his grin.

Samuel looks skeptical but Coulson cuts the tension, “Well I’m not, so go slow.”

“Okay,” Samuel starts, “Dr. Sarkisian and Dr. Weller were mapping the loci in the brain that light up when emotional responses are triggered, so when opinions change. They were using the data to perfect an algorithm.”

“It’s like a personalized search.” Amanda expands, upon seeing Peter’s blank stare, “The program curates the news a user reads online. So it learns what kinds of stories you respond to and gives you more of what you want. It renders users’ opinions more fluid.”

Coulson’s brows furrow, but Tony looks skeptical bordering on distasteful, “Don’t hurt yourself Coulson, what she means is, they’re trying to make a brainwashing machine.”

Samuel raises a hand, “That’s not how we’d put it.”

“Well of course _you_ wouldn’t.” Tony cuts in.

“It’s a weapon of soft power.” Samuel concedes, “But they hadn’t presented the results yet, we weren’t even out of beta-testing. But we had high hopes.” 

As the team leads Tony and Peter to the crime scene, Peter can see the tightness of Tony’s lips. “There’s no way.” He mutters to Peter under his breath, “There’s just no way any of that research actually went anywhere.” 

The crime scene is grisly when they get there, a couple crime scene units walking around marking important pieces of evidence and taking photos. Coulson walks them through what happened, “Sarkisian was killed first, she’s closest to the door and the shots were fired at extremely close range.” 

He points to the next body “Weller was next, shooter double-tapped him too. Smooth, like a pro.” 

Tony leaves Peter to stand and nod while he steps over the body gingerly to peer into a rat cage with an odd expression on his face. 

“The test subject in the next room was a grad student volunteer, Ollie Tate.” 

Peter purses his lips, glancing around, “There’s no signs of a struggle, everything must’ve happened really fast.” 

Coulson shrugs, “Like I said, a pro.” 

Tony makes a face as he stands up from examining the cage and Coulson sighs, “Yes Tony?” 

Tony points behind him at the rat with the most ridiculous expression, “That rat is dead.” 

Coulson looks like he wants to sigh even louder. 

“There’s no visible signs of injury, and I can tell he died recently.”

“Well…there was…quite the commotion last night.” Coulson finally says, “Maybe he had a rat heart attack.” Although his expression makes it clear that he doesn’t care. 

“I know you’re flipping me off, but rats are actually heart attack prone.” 

Peter’s mouth opens and then closes for a second, noting the utter lack of impression on Coulson’s face, “Uhh, Agent Coulson, how do you think the killer got in?”

Coulson opens his mouth before Tony butts in, “Sarkisian let him in. Probably knew him.” He walks over the body again to get back to them talking as he goes, “To get in here, we had to pass through two doors that needed key cards for access.”

He bends down over her body, tugging something up from beneath her arm with a pen, “Sarkisian’s isn’t hanging on the lanyard around her neck. So she was shot _after_ walking the killer inside.” 

Coulson raises a brow, “Hmm.” 

Tony glances around, “Doesn’t look like she kept a lot of personal stuff in here. It’s gonna make it hard to know her, we have to go to talk to her family, her friends.” 

“We already have a team there.” 

“Should we go there then?” Peter asks, stepping closer to Tony.

“I have to finish here, stay in my lane.” Coulson says, already turning away, “But if you two want to take off now, that’s fine.” 

Peter gapes, “As in…go home?” 

Coulson stops, “Look, I told you before, this is how we work here. If we come across anything we need you for, we’ll let you know.” 

Peter looks at Tony helplessly but he knows there’s not much he can do. They’re escorted off the premises pretty quick after that.

Things are pretty sullen back in the brownstone. 

“Well that sucked.” Peter says, flopping onto the couch, face buried in a pillow.

Tony snorts, picking up Peter’s feet so he can sit down, letting them rest on his lap. “Was it that bad?” 

“Of course it was! They wouldn’t let us _do_ anything! They wouldn’t even let us go anywhere without supervision. What are?? Five??”

Tony looks thoughtful, “Well, I mean-”

“Mr. Stark!!” 

Peter’s indignant glare sends him into a fit of laughter that ends with Peter digging his feet into Tony’s ribs until he raises his hands in the air admitting defeat. 

“Well now you have time for homework so this is really a win-win.” Tony jokes and Peter just grumbles in response.

“We don’t have to work for the FBI.” Tony finally says and Peter stops.

“I thought the CIA said no?”

“Yeah. But we could go back.”

Peter doesn’t even want to breathe, “To the Captain?” 

“To the Captain.” 

Peter pulls his legs back, shooting up so that he’s rocking on his knees, tugging at Tony’s shoulder, “What! How?? I thought we were suspended for good!!”

“Easy there tiger, settle down. We _were_ suspended. But as it happens, daddy dear paid a visit.”

Peter stiffens, falling back into a sitting position. “What??”

“He came into town yesterday, I talked to him while you were working on the lock.”

“You tricked me.” Peter says flatly, lips pulled in a thin line.

“No, I distracted you.” Tony sighs, “It was selfish I know. But the longer I could keep you two apart the better. But it’s different now.”

“Different how?” Peter asks suspiciously.

“He offered to wave his magic rich old man wand and get us back in.”

Peter sucks on his lip, looking torn between being happy and wary. “But…if _we_ couldn’t do it…”

“I told you what he does right? Stark Industries isn’t just a tech conglomerate. It has another side. My dad is a…middle man. He greases the skids so that politicians and corporations can work together around the world.” Tony makes a face, “Sometimes those projects are good. Most of the time they’re vomit worthy. But this is what he does. He gets people to change their minds. If he says he can do this for us,” His eyes darken, “he can do it.” 

“Okay.” Peter says slowly, “So what’d you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Peter,” Tony shifts so he’s looking at him right in the eyes, “I know you want to do this. And we can. But we have to make sure we think about the risks. Because there’s always a risk. Especially with my dad.” 

A beat. 

“One day the bill’s going to come, and we have to be sure we’re willing to pay.”

Peter swallows, “Well, you know him better.”

Tony smiles, poking him in the forehead, “Yeah, but I thought we were some kinda super sleuth team or whatever. We’ll both decide. But you need a level playing field.”

Peter tilts his head.

“Congratulations kid, you get to meet your grandpa for the first time. Tonight.” 

Peter falls against the couch arm. “Big oof.”

Tony nods sagely, “Big oof indeed. Now chop chop, we can at least try to make ourselves useful by combing through the crime scene photos from today.”

They settle at the kitchen table, stacks of printed images split between the two of them. They work silently for the most part until forty minutes in, Tony furrows his brows, passing a paper to Peter. “Is it just me or is this a dead give away.” 

Peter squints at it. It’s a photograph of a card with each of its two sides photographed with the same border, one has a giant Chinese character, the other, a message in loopy writing that reads: _August 20th, a day I will never forget, XO DZ_. “I mean…I’d probably have a better answer if I knew what it meant?”

Tony looks up, “It means beautiful. And if you look at the bottom of the card, you can see the clasp marks, so it was probably in a bouquet. And DZ, whoever that is, sent three _other_ bouquets with similar notes.” Tony hands Peter three other pages with identical cards.

“So she had a boyfriend.” Peter states.

“Maybe. Looking through her social media shows her talking to a guy called DiplomatDan. Interestingly, there’s a guy named Dan Zheng who works as a staffer at China’s UN mission.” Tony spins his laptop around to show Peter the staff About page on the UN mission website.

“So DiplomatDan is Dan Zheng and you’re thinking he’s actually KillerDan?”

Tony gives him a scathing look, “Never talk to me ever again.”

“What?? It’s _funny!_”

“It’s not even on the map of funny, but yeah. He might be a spy. But even his diplomatic immunity wouldn’t protect him from murder, so I don’t know why they’d pick him as a triggerman.”

Peter rubs at his chin, “Well it would make sense. You said she let someone she knew in. Making her fall in love with him would be a sure fire way of doing that.” He pauses, “But what about the motive?”

“You’re forgetting the spy part. Spies don’t have motives. They have orders.”

“Alright fine. But why would China want to kill Dr. Sarkisian??” Peter’s face falls, “Oh wait- it’s not the research is it?? The mind control research that shouldn’t work?” 

“I think that’s exactly what it was.” Tony swivels in his chair, “What kind of world leader who relies on internet censorship, puts whole ethnic groups into concentration camps, and loves that good old propaganda _wouldn’t_ want a brainwashing machine?”

Peter groans. 

They call in the tip to Coulson and are told to meet him there at Zheng’s apartment. Of course, they’re barred entry into the place until Coulson arrives and both Peter and Tony can feel their frustration start to unravel. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting you two.” Coulson says as a greeting, flashing his badge to the sentry posted at the door.

“Oh you know it’s fine. I’m sure the clues will just examine themselves.” Tony says cheerily.

Coulson sighs, “I told you before. Consultants need a chaperone. We’re the FBI. We actually follow the rules.” 

Peter feels a burst of defensiveness in his chest but keeps quiet when they enter the apartment. 

It’s completely empty. Everything has been stripped away, even the trash cans are empty. FBI agents pace around the room, writing notes and taking photos. Coulson nods at an agent with probably the best posture Peter’s ever seen, “What have we got?”

The man shrugs, “You’ve seen just about everything. Management said the rent was paid six months in advance. Hard to say when this guy ghosted.” 

Tony buts in, not really making eye contact as his gaze swivels around the room, “Saw some of you guys chatting up the neighbors.”

“…Yeah. Nobody’s seen Zheng in a month. To be honest, it sounds like everyone more or less hated him.” 

While the adults chatter, Peter digs around through the drawers and kitchen cabinets, when he finds something interesting, “You guys missed this.” He calls, taking only a little bit of glee at the utter shock on the agents’ faces. 

He pulls out an extremely crumpled paper, “It’s an old noise complaint.”

Tony gestures for him to bring it over and he can’t help but look unimpressed as he reads through it, “So the good news is, we’re on the hunt for probably the least competent spy ever allowed out into the field.”

Coulson fixes him with a look, “He’s ahead of us so far.”

Tony scoffs, “Please. This apartment is right down the block to Times Square, which is the noisiest part of the noisiest city in the world but he _still_ managed to piss everyone off with his noise? He’s obviously awful at blending in, which means an easy trail.”

Coulson turns away, “We don’t need a trail. We only need a ping.” 

They’re out in Times Square in a surveillance van and a disappointed Coulson. The man in the van sighs, “I’m sorry sir. The stolen computers have to be at least a mile away, which is why we’re not getting anything.” 

Peter furrows his brows, “How does this even work.”

“The van works as a cell phone tower simulator, it sucks up every signal in a ten-block radius. Which is helpful because if DARPA is funding our research, that means you have to use DARPA computers which all have a small battery powered 4G router, which would ping if this unit was close enough.” 

Coulson frowns again before gesturing for Tony and Peter to walk outside with him, “We need to talk.”

Tony clutches at his heart, “Tell me it’s you not me.”

Coulson fixes him with a look, “I appreciate how fast you found this guy, his disappearing act is definitely grounds for suspicion, but this is probably going to be the end of the line for you guys.” 

Tony takes a step, “Okay woah, this break-up is _not_ consensual, take us back Agent, come on.”

“It’s not up to me. I’ve seen cases way less sensitive get snapped up by D.C. My bosses are going to want to keep this quiet, they don’t want Zheng to run and they definitely don’t want to start a slap fight with China.” Coulson lowers his voice, “The whole thing is going to be sorted out very quietly and at a very high level.” 

But Tony isn’t listening anymore, eyes locked somewhere past him, “Actually, this is gonna get real loud real quick.” 

“Excuse me?”

Tony points, at one of the dozens of screens, “D.C isn’t gonna be able to do jack anymore bud.” 

On the screen, a newscaster straightens her papers, “Breaking news, as calls intensify for accountability from DARPA, State Department officials won’t say if the Chinese government will respond tonight or tomorrow. No additional information is available.” A picture of Dan Zheng with the label SPY MANHUNT flashes on the screen.

“For fuck’s sake.” 

Two hours later, Tony’s tapping his foot against the chair leg in an office building peering into the crack of a conference room door for just a second before Peter walks out the other room, “I’m not a snitch so I didn’t get a stitch!” 

“Oh my God.” 

Peter crosses his arms, “What?”

Tony rolls his eyes, getting up to appraise him, “Obviously I didn’t leak it either, although I feel like I trained you well enough to have not bowed down to their truly subpar interrogation methods. Coulson!” Tony exclaims, “You better shape this place up.”

“Do I have to go redo your interrogation?” He sighs.

“Oh God no, now we can finally get to the fun part. You guys have every reason to be panicking right now. I don’t know what the media is more excited about, a propaganda machine or the fact that someone _stole_ the propaganda machine.” 

Coulson rubs at his temple, looking stressed, “Honestly, all that matters to me is that D.C’s more concerned with the manhunt. If Zheng wasn’t on the run before, he’s definitely on the run now.” He shakes his head, musters up a smile, “Anyway, you’re free to go now. You don’t have to worry about Zheng anymore.”

Peter’s shoulders sink. For a second, the fun of being in a little bit of trouble and the fun of being on the hunt had distracted him from how…temporary everything was. Tony glances at him from the corner of his eye and tries to mask his frown. 

He needed to do something. And when in doubt…

“I bet you’d take us right back if I told you where you can find Zheng.” He says quickly and relishes in Coulson’s wide eyes.

“What??” Peter exclaims, pulling at Tony’s sleeve.

“I’ll admit,” Tony says, putting his hands up, “the idea’s still forming mid-sentence and this little caterpillar would grow into a gorgeous little butterfly with a map right to Zheng painted on it if you just let me walk into that room.” 

He points to the conference room and Coulson just stares, “Come on, even I can’t get the whole picture through just a crack.” Tony turns to Coulson, eyes intense, “Give me just a minute in that room and _then_ tell me you don’t need us.”

Coulson assesses him with heavy eyes before nodding, gesturing for them to follow him. The screens inside the conference room blend together to show the streets of Time Square- a giant nanny cam for the city. Tony makes a face, jutting out his lips in appraisal, “Alright, silver lining to the leak, every citizen in the city has become a deputy in your search. And at least one of the tips was legit, Zheng was seen at the World Trade Center.” 

Coulson nods his head at one of the agents, “Do we have a mobile team there?”

The man nods, “No pings yet though.” 

Tony raises a hand, “Actually, let me narrow down the field for you gents. Look at that picture of Zheng,” he gestures to the static image on the screen, “he’s carrying a drummer’s bag, it’s meant for skins and sticks. And there were some weird indents in the carpet at his apartment. Adding the noise complaint Peter found in the drawer-” he waves his hand around like trying to complete a thought but not being able to. 

“So what?”

“_So,_” Peter interjects, expression hard like he was offended this guy had the audacity to talk back to Tony, “the indents were made by the drum kit. And the noise complain was over a year old. The drum kit is gone, but he obviously still has some of the gear which means he has to be playing somewhere else.” 

“Yes! Exactly!” Tony says, nodding furiously as his brain connects the dots.

The man’s face contorts with derision, “There are seven different state and federal agencies hunting this guy and you think he’s on his way to practice his drumming?”

Tony points at the screen again, “There’s a subway station beneath that building with access to the One train and Columbus Circle, home to the Bernstein Music Conservatory. It’s the densest concentration of music rehearsal spaces in the city.” Tony looks at him, head cocked, “I could think of worse places to lie low.” 

Coulson rubs at his chin before nodding, “Okay, let’s get a team together.”

Tony grins, “We back Agent?”

Coulson turns, so Tony can’t see his smile, “For now.” 

Tony gestures for Peter to follow after when Peter stops him, “Wait, not that he’d ever do the same for us, but we should probably tell your dad we’re not gonna meet him today.”

Tony frowns, checking his phone with a mildly bemused expression, “Is it already that late? Damn.” He stuffs his phone back into his pocket and Peter can see that familiar conflict in his eyes, “No.” Tony finally says, “We should go.”

Peter can barely believe what he’s hearing, “_What?_” 

“The last time I missed an appointment, it took me a year to get back on the calendar. We should go Pete.” 

Peter jerks back as though burned. “No! We should finish this case and then he should make another time for us because he’s bailed on you a million times- it’s literally the least he could do!” 

Tony’s brows furrow, looking at Peter like he’s still unsure of what’s going on. “Kid, he’s not going to make the time again. And we’re the ones asking for a favour, remember?”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure he just barged in here acting all important and-”

“Hey.” Tony reaches for Peter’s shoulder, squeezes, once, twice, trying to ground him into something more real than anger, “There’ll always be another case. That’s the name of the game. But there won’t be another shot to get back in with the NYPD.”

And it’s so unfair. It’s so goddamn _unfair_. That this was their only way back into their family that had made them happy. And Peter’s angry and he’s resentful and he fucking hates Howard fucking Stark and his stupid superiority complex. 

But he loves Tony. 

And he loves Steve and Thor and Dr. Banner and the Captain. 

“Fine.” He finally says, “But you go with Mr. Coulson. One of us should be there so they don’t kick us out.”

Immediately, Tony’s entire demeanor changes, “Nuh uh. No way. I’m not letting you near him alone.”

And this time, it’s Peter who reaches out to grab at Tony’s hand, still on his shoulder. “I’ll be fine.” In his eyes, there’s no light, “I’m not a kid anymore. I can handle it.” 

“I wouldn’t go running into adulthood just yet Pete.” Tony says softly.

Peter doesn’t say anything, just tightens his lip and walks away. And Tony doesn’t really know why he lets him go. Doesn’t know if it’s because he’s inherently selfish and wants to stay on the case. Or because he doesn’t know how to deal with this Peter’s maelstrom of emotions and rage.

He takes a step to rejoin the team when Peter’s face when he saw him in that hospital room flashes in his mind. That flash of bitterness at being left alone. That raw hurt. That unabashed resentment. And in that moment, Tony realizes he’s part of the problem. Part of this awful world forcing Peter to grow up too quick and lose the softness in his eyes. 

And he doesn’t think, when he turns right on his heel and runs out the door and he doesn’t think when he hears Coulson yelling his name and he doesn’t think about the case or the machine or where this might lead. He sees Peter walking down the streets, hands stuffed in his pockets, head hunched over and shouts his name. 

Peter turns around, eyes wide in surprise- like a child’s again- and Tony tries hard not to smile something watery and sad. “Changed my mind.” Tony says simply. “Lemme just send a quick text to Coulson to remind him to check the trash.”

And he watches as Peter tries to hide how touched he is, the quick spark of relief. “You should go back.” He says half-heartedly.

“I’m the adult and I say no.” Tony says firmly.

“Okay.” Peter says after a moment.

“Okay.” Tony repeats. 

When they get to Howard’s office, Peter’s taken aback by how ostentatious everything is. How overly glammed and luxurious every part of it is without needing to be. They take the elevator up to his office and Peter rocks on the balls of his feet, sending nervous glances Tony’s way before Tony finally flicks him in the forehead. “What?”

“I think…” Peter licks his lips, “I think I should talk to him alone.” He turns to Tony quickly, hands up, “I mean! I’m really glad you’re here. But I- I want to see how he’ll treat me when you’re not- well, I just…want to see.” 

Tony blinks in surprise, rolling the idea over in his head. “Okay.” He says, surprising himself.

And Peter too, apparently. “Wait, what?”

“Okay.” Tony repeats, walking him down the hall, “I’ll wait outside. And I’ll be able to hear everything. So I can jump in if I think things get too messy. But I told you I wanted you to get to know who Howard is, and you’re right. You won’t really know him unless you meet him alone. But you’ll know that you’re not.” 

They’re outside a giant mahogany door with Howard Stark’s name written on a gold plaque. 

“I’m here.” And Tony hopes Peter will understand he means more than what he’s saying.

Peter smiles his little half smile, “I know.”

And then he knocks and in a second, Peter’s gone.

Howard Stark looks exactly like he does in all the photos. Meticulously groomed, sharp eyes, straight posture. He looks up from the papers on his desk and smiles. Maybe it’s unfair to say insincerely. “Ahh, Mr. Parker. A pleasure to finally meet you.” He greets, gesturing for Peter to sit down across from him.

“Could’ve met sooner if you ever kept your appointments.” Peter shrugs, not breaking eye contact.

Howard tilts his head, looking almost amused, “I see you share my son’s sharp tongue. Has he shared anything else? Stories about me perhaps?”

“Not really. Just some not so great stuff here and there. But we don’t talk about you much.”

Howard sighs, leaning back in his chair, “He’s always so dramatic that one. Always making me into the enemy.”

Peter makes a face, “Mr. Stark has real enemies. I think he just thinks you’re a bad dad. Like, a really bad dad.” 

Howard pauses, “A bad dad wouldn’t have made him the offer I did.” 

“Depends on what you want out of it don’t you think?” Peter shoots back.

“Nothing.” Howard says, hands out like throwing confetti, “I want nothing from you.”

Peter looks skeptical. 

“You find that hard to believe?” Howard presses.

“I definitely don’t think you came here out of charity. We’ve been in trouble loads of times before. But you came _now_.” 

Howard smiles again, “You’re right. Charity didn’t bring me here.” His voice drops, “Problems did.”

“And Mr. Stark and I are problems?” 

“No. Addiction is. Adopting children willy-nilly is.” Peter flinches and hopes Tony doesn’t come barging in yelling, “But working with the NYPD wasn’t. In fact, it was solving problems. I just want to make that solution work again. That’s all.” 

Peter doesn’t say anything. Howard leans closer, “And I want to get to know _you_. The boy who made my irresponsible son who couldn’t even take care of himself think he could become a father.”

Peter prickles, fingers gripping the bottoms of his sleeves. “He’s a better father than you were.” He says quietly. 

Howard stands, looming over him, “Think about my offer Peter. I meant what I said. I want to give you solutions. I don’t want anything else.”

When Peter walks out of Howard’s office, Tony’s jumping to reach him, “We gotta go. Right now.”

Peter stumbles after him, confused beyond belief, “Mr. Stark??”

“They found the laptops that Zheng dumped in the trash like I said but he just turned himself in. Says he’s innocent.”

“_What?_”

“Exactly.” 

Back in the office, Dan Zheng sits in a chair, silent as can be while his lawyer gesticulates adamantly. “It is beyond dispute that my client could not have authored the tragic events in Harlem. He was at the symphony here in Manhattan when they occurred. And yet our news media has turned him into an international pariah.” 

Tony and Peter have been relegated to the back as to not disturb anyone but Tony can’t stop from interjecting like he just can’t help himself, “No one said Zheng pulled the trigger himself. The relevant fact remains his relationship to one of the deceased. He could have just called Dr. Sarkisian and induced her to welcome an accomplice.”

Coulson shoots him a look, “Pardon the interruption. But either way, we can’t control what the media says about your client.”

The lawyer scoffs, “All my client did was once date an unmarried woman. Where is the crime?”

Tony growls, looking around the room furiously, “Is _no one_ going to ask how the computers were found on the same block as a rehearsal space rented in his name?” 

The lawyer doesn’t even look at him, “Every single person by now knows Mr. Zheng was your suspect. The culprit clearly dumped the computers in your path to frame him, and by extension, our country.” The lawyer’s jaw hardens, “You have nothing.” 

Things are quiet on the way back home before Tony shakes his head of the case and looks at Peter. “Okay, let’s park the brainwashing mumbo jumbo. Let’s talk first impressions.”

Peter snorts, “I already had a first impression. This is like, my third.”

“Alright, lucky number three. Hit me.” 

Peter shrugs, picking at some lint on his coat. “I dunno. He’s an asshole, but we already knew that. And I don’t think he likes that I’m in your life. But I don’t think he hates it either. And…” he looks up, an odd expression on his face, “I dunno. I got this weird vibe that he…there’s something else but I just can’t see it.” 

“Yeah. That’s the way it is with him.” Tony sighs.

“I think he’s sincere about getting us reinstated though.” Peter adds.

“Agreed. That’s the weird part.”

“And I think we should talk about it some more, but I really just want to eat.” 

Tony softens, ruffling his hair, “There’s some leftovers in the fridge, I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” 

Tony falls into his office chair in the basement staring but not really looking at the three computer monitors in front of him. He knows what he wants to do, but finds himself glancing at his phone more than at the screens until he sighs, giving in. He dials the number like he has a million times, his fingers moving without thought. 

The phone only rings twice when he hears that familiar, “Hey Tones,” that makes every ounce of tension in his shoulders drop like they were never even there. 

“Hey honeybear, you busy?”

Tony settles into the chair, spinning a pen idly between his fingers.

“Oh you know, just the usual. Defending her Majesty’s interests and protecting national security. No big deal.” He can hear the smile in Rhodey’s voice and Tony can’t help but grin back.

“What would England do without you.” He says drily.

“Die probably.” Tony snorts, but sobers up when Rhodey’s tone changes, “You never call me. What’s up?” 

“I call you!”

“Oh really? When?”

Tony puckers his lips and the smacking sound is enough for Rhodey to know he’s right, “Uh huh. So, you in hot water?”

“Not exactly…”

Twenty minutes later, Rhodey’s yelling, “YOU ADOPTED A WHOLE ASS KID AND DIDN’T TELL ME??” 

“I’m sorry! It just happened! Relax about it!” 

“Relax about it- Tony you-!” Rhodey sighs with extra drama before taking in a deep breath.

“I thought you’d be happy about being an uncle.” Tony says before Rhodey’s breath hitches.

“I will _kill_ you. But then I’d feel bad for the kid.”

“He’s a good kid.” Tony says quietly, “Which is why I’m so worried about Howard. You know what happens when he gets involved.” 

A distant memory reaches the surface. Yelling and swearing and Tony feeling loved for the first time by someone that didn’t have to. 

“You don’t have to tell me.” Rhodey says, that familiar simmering anger dancing at the edges of his words, “You worried about what’s going to go down?”

“I’m worried that I’m getting Peter involved in something he’s not ready for.” 

Rhodey’s quiet, “Are _you_ ready?”

“It doesn’t matter if I am. Going back to the NYPD is the only way I see Peter getting over whatever he’s going through. I can’t deny him this one bit of happiness after everything he’s been through. If it takes making a deal with the devil, then fine.” 

Peter lays around for a couple hours, too tired to really do much else when curiosity finally nags at him to go down to the basement where he sees Tony pop up guiltily, hiding papers behind his back. Peter frowns, crossing his arms, “What’d you do.”

“Depends.” Tony says shiftily.

“On _what??_”

“On whether you want to be an accessory after the fact.”

Peter smacks a hand to his face, “Oh my God. You hacked into her emails didn’t you.”

Tony flashes that awkward guilty smile and Peter groans. “Well, we might as well go to jail together, so hit me up I guess.”

Tony claps his hands, “I was hoping you’d say that. Okay, check this out.” 

Tony slaps two papers in front of him, both showing brain scans with the same part lit up in orange. “Channel your inner six year old and spot the difference.” 

Peter frowns, looking confused as he glances back and forth, “Am I having a stroke or are they the same?”

Tony looks excited as he replaces the two sheets with two other photos, this time with a different area of the brain lit up. “Still the same??” Peter says, brows still furrowed. 

Tony looks at him, eyes bright, “Congratulations, you have perfect eye-sight. They’re the exact same, except for a key difference.” He points to the bottom of the photo, “The dates.”

“Okay?”

“Pete, we owe China a massive ‘my bad’ for this. Because what I just showed you were the before and after photos of the test subjects in Sarkisian’s experiments. They were the ones who were put through all the brainwashing mumbo jumbo and these photos _prove_ that none of it worked. And I mean at all.”

“Not even for one person??” Peter presses, more or less dumbfounded.

“Not even one.” 

Peter whistles, “That’s some pretty bad propaganda. I’ve seen Tumblr posts that were better.”

Tony snorts, “Yeah well, Sarkisian basically admitted that herself. She wrote an email to her partner stating her intent to withdraw a grant proposal for further funding and Weller agreed.”

Peter skims the email quickly before noticing the date, “Wait a minute. If Sarkisian told Zheng the program was a flop, that would validate his innocence because obviously he would’ve just lost interest. He would’ve reported back what he learned to China and they’d know they had nothing to worry about _or_ gain.” 

Tony nods.

“So China really didn’t do it.” Peter sighs, leaning against the desk, “That’s good! No war! Woohoo.”

“Hold your celebrations there kiddo. This just means three people died for nothing.”

They work all the way until morning and when Peter and Tony realize who the only logical suspect can be, both of them feel so put off they collapse onto the couch, just staring at their collage. 

“I just…” Peter starts.

“Yeah.” Tony nods.

“What are we…”

Tony shrugs, “We could come clean. Tell the FBI I stole some top secret research and eliminated one billion Chinese suspects in favour of one neo-monarchist.” 

Peter makes a face, “Oh God. A neo-monarchist. What _gives?_”

“The world’s a fascinating place Pete. And sometimes brilliant government funded scientists get divorced from guys whose names truly designed their fate. I mean, come on, what were his parents thinking naming him Maurice Antonov. That’s the most medieval name I can think of.” 

“Harold. Charles. Edward-” Tony pinches Peter’s mouth shut.

“Okay, we get it. You watched the Royal Wedding.”

Peter sinks into his seat, ears turning red, “Only the first two hours.” He mumbles.

“We’ll get to how that’s not much better later.” Tony turns to the collage, “So what do we know? We know that they got divorced six months ago. And it’s always the husband. So her ex goes loco and kills her and kills the witnesses.”

Peter frowns, “So stealing the computers was just to throw us off?” 

Tony crosses his arms, looking perturbed, “No…there’s something missing here. We can’t go to the FBI until we’re sure. And when the motive makes more sense. Because right now, all we know is that he’s a weirdo who blogs as Henry the eleventh and is lobbying to restore a Tudor-style monarchy in the twenty-first century as though there isn’t already enough income inequality.” 

Peter mulls that over for a bit, chewing on his lip before perking up, “What if _that_ was the motive? What if he didn’t hate Dr. Sarkisian, but hated the fact that her research was a bust? We know that the experiments were supposed to push the subjects towards neo-fascist beliefs about democracy failing, and her emails showed us Antonov suggested it.” 

Tony snaps his fingers, standing up abruptly, “Motive! He wanted to use her brainwashing machine to sell his idea to the masses and when he found out it was a dud, went nuts. I mean, we have no proof that he ever knew, but still.”

“Yeah! Exactly!” 

“Good job kid. Alright, let’s go. No better way to the find the truth than to ask for it.” 

They end up at an old bookstore with dashing floor to ceiling bookshelves and ancient ladders you could use to reach the highest shelves. A man sits at a long desk at the back of the room with a twinkle in his eye when they announce that they’re here to speak to King Henry the Eleventh. 

“Ahh, congratulations.” He says, turning around in his chair, “I didn’t think I’d left enough clues for anyone to find me. You’re the first one of my followers to uncover my identity.” He praises, grossly missing the vibe. 

Peter has to stop himself from shirking back from how utterly weird this man is, but Tony seems right at home. He leans back, arms crossed, looking vaguely intrigued, “Why keep yourself anonymous? Wouldn’t it be easier to bring out the fall of Western imperialism without a pseudonym?”

Antonov raises his hands, leaning back, “Now, now, let’s be clear. I never said I wanted to become king, only that someone should.”

Tony hides his grin, “Not a really popular opinion though huh?”

“One day it will be.” 

“You’re pretty optimistic.” Tony broaches, and Peter can see the delicacy of his interrogation, how it doesn’t even feel like one, “Any reason why?”

“Of course!” Antonov pronounces, looking at him intently, “Because of people like you two. The truth draws talented people like moths to a flame, more every day. Acolytes.” He says intensely. 

Tony raises a brow, “Is that what you’d call us?”

“You know your Plato. There will be no end to the troubles of humanity until philosophers become kings.”

Tony sighs, stretching up, “Well, sorry to burst your bubble my liege, but we’re no acolytes. We’re detectives. And I’m with Churchill. ‘Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all the others.’”

Antonov’s expression drops and immediately his expression turns guarded. Peter steps in looking down at him, “Where were you three nights ago around nine p.m?”

Antonov swallows, “This is about what happened in Gail’s lab.”

Tony nods, “There’s evidence to suggest that you wanted to use her algorithm to push your ideas online.”

He shakes his head, “No. No. I was here, hosting a seminar on Thomas Carlyle. It started at seven and ended at ten. There are over a dozen witnesses that can vouch for me.” He pulls up an ad on his desktop as proof.

Tony gives flashes him an unimpressed look, “You know something.”

Antonov turns his nose up pompously, “And why would I help a tool of a bloated and dying empire?”

Tony smirks, “Because you don’t want my kid to doxx you as a public servant?” 

Antonov pales.

“How do you think your followers would take it to know that you’re at the government’s beck and call?”

Immediately, Antonov’s entire tone changes, “Wait, you have the wrong idea.” Tony raises a brow, “No one would have killed Gail for that algorithm, it didn’t work. I uhh…” he looks away, “she never changed her passwords and I’d check in on her from time to time. She was disappointed with the program and nervous too.”

“Nervous why?”

“Because she didn’t know how her patron would take it.”

“Patron?” Peter asks.

“A man named Samuel Meher. He works at DARPA.” Antonov looks insistent, eyes never straying, “He put his neck on the line to fund the whole project. He was intense. I never liked the way he talked to her in emails.” He looks at them, sincere, “I never would have hurt her.” 

Tony appraises him for a moment before nodding at Peter to move along, “Good luck overthrowing the government. Feel free to spare us when you get those firing squads going yeah?”

Outside, the city rushes around them. “You buying the Meher thing?” Peter asks.

Tony shrugs, swaying his head, “He’s ex-military. He’s capable. It’s worth going through the emails again to see if there’s anything intimidating.” 

Tony stops, glances down at him, “Wanna go to the FBI office and run his name for me?”

Peter juts out his lip, “Yeah alright. See you in a bit?”

“You bet.”

Coulson comes up behind Peter half an hour into his computer search holding a printed copy of his internet history, “I wasn’t watching porn I swear!” Peter jokes, looking away awkwardly when Coulson doesn’t laugh.

“I didn’t know you were coming in today.” Coulson says, ignoring his comment.

“Yeah uh, Mr. Stark wanted me to run Meher’s name. Just to make sure everything was okay.” 

Coulson gives him a look, “What about this other stuff? Sonic-pressure shields, robotic dogs, nanotech.”

“Yeah, those were the other projects that got funding, for the same lab that got hit. I was just wondering who else had access.”

Coulson nods, “Okay. Just keep me in the loop next time okay? Oh, and one more thing,” he gestures to Peter’s screen where a real estate listing is pulled up, “What’s a mansion got to do with Meher?”

Peter schools his expression, faking a smile, “Oh, it’s just for another case.” 

“Alright, get back to work then.” 

“Will do!” 

Peter turns back to the mansion and stares at it for a long, long time, the lab forgotten. 

Tony’s on his third cup of coffee when Peter comes home, “How’d it go?”

“Not good.” Peter groans, “Found nothing on Meher that would prove that he would kill three people to cover up a failed project.”

“Yeah, I’m over him as a suspect too. He’d be worse off now than if he just hadn’t done any of this. The PR is a mess.” 

Peter makes a face like he’s considering before nodding, “Sucks to be him I guess.” 

Tony sets his cup down, giving him that look that Peter knows means they’re going to get serious. “You feel like talking now?”

Peter stuffs his hands into his hoodie pocket, “What’s there to talk about?”

Tony gives him a look, “Pete, you’ve been all over the place recently. You’re irritable, angry, you lash out at everyone who isn’t me. Something’s wrong.”

Peter’s face tightens, “Maybe everyone else is wrong and I’m finally learning to stick up for myself, I thought you’d like that.”

“Don’t go try and make this out like some character development arc. You’re supposed to feel better about yourself after that happens. I don’t think you do.”

Peter crosses his arms, “Well maybe you’re wrong.” 

“Maybe.” Tony allows, “Do you think I am?” 

Peter breathes in, jaw tight. 

Tony sighs, lifting up his mug, “I’m going to take my dad up on his offer.” 

Peter’s entire expression twists, “What??”

“I’m trying to be a better person too. And one thing I’ve learned is that to do that, you have to forgive people. And give them the room to walk that road to redemption.” Tony’s talking and Peter knows he means it about his dad but also knows Tony means it about Peter too. “Maybe the old man _can_ change. Maybe he can’t. But at least I can say that I was open.” 

“You don’t know if you can trust him. He’s let you down a million times!” Peter argues, unable to stop from stamping his foot.

Tony nods, “But sometimes he came through. And maybe I can be better for the both of us.” 

Peter shakes his head.

“You know Peter, I spent too much of my life holding this- this giant cloud of anger and resentment over my dad. All it did was weigh me down. And when you’re weighed down already, it’s so much easier to fall into bad habits and do things that make you hate yourself.” 

And alright, maybe Tony’s laying it on a little thick. And maybe this has more to do with Peter than it does with making amends with his father. But he wants to be a good example. Wants to be something worthy of being a real dad. And most of all, he just wants Peter to be better. If Peter walked down that same road of rage and self-destruction then-

Tony can’t even bear the thought. 

Peter’s lip wobbles and he doesn’t want to look Tony in the eye but he can’t help it anyway. Like it’s gravity. “I’m going to be a better person than I was yesterday. And that means letting go. And I want to be better for you, and that means providing the best life I can for you. And I want to give you whatever makes you happy. And the NYPD makes you happy.” 

Peter shakes his head, trying hard to keep the heat from turning into tears behind his eyes. “No I don’t- I don’t want you to always have to sacrifice. I don’t want us to have to sacrifice anymore. Or to- or to always get the short end I just-”

“I know.” And Tony’s voice is sweet like honey, soothing like balm, “I know. But this isn’t a sacrifice. It’s what I want. And it’s what you want. And I know things have been hard and I know that you’re going through a lot and I know you don’t want to talk about it. And we don’t have to yet. I just want you to know that the world can go to absolute shit, and I’ll always make sure we’re okay but I’ll always try and get you all the details too.”

And Peter stands still in the kitchen, feeling absolutely untethered to anything except Tony’s voice. 

“The world isn’t a bad place Pete. Bad things happen in it, but people like you, people with good hearts, you’re what makes it better.” 

And Peter sees Tony’s face, sincere and true, and remembers Howard’s smug face and that mansion on the screen and tries hard not to let his rage spill out all over the floor. 

The next morning, Peter’s still feeling raw from the conversation before and he knows that a few words won’t fix whatever is shattered inside him. Not when their world is so skewed against them. 

He patters downstairs, gets the newspaper from outside the door, still slightly bleary eyed when he yells. “Mr. Stark!!”

Tony jolts up from where he was sprawled on the couch, blinking furiously, “Peter??”

“I figured it out!!” Peter yells again, running over to show Tony the headline, “Look, it’s an op-ed calling for Samuel Meher’s dismissal. It’s like we said yesterday, if he did it, it was the biggest fail on earth. But we forgot one thing.”

Tony raises a brow, “What’s that.”

“Who _benefited_.” 

They’re off in less than twenty minutes and they find exactly who they’re looking for exactly where she was supposed to be. Amanda Cleaver blinks at them in surprise, “You’re the consultants right? The ones working with Agent Coulson?”

Tony nods, “Yup, that’s us. I see you’re off to a meeting. Probably with the Armed Services Committee now that you’re the heir apparent since Meher’s career’s in the toilet now.” 

Amanda makes a wry face, “Perhaps.” 

“Yeah? Well perhaps it’s motive.” Peter cuts in, pinning her with a look.

“Excuse me?”

“Three murders, theft of top secret research, I mean, it’s a big move. But you’d gotta go big or go home if you wanted to jump over Meher and control DARPA’s eight billion dollar budget.” Peter clarifies.

Amanda’s expression flattens, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Sure, sure, we can keep pretending if you want. You never knew anything about Zheng when you killed them, but when you found out he was a suspect, you dumped the computers around Columbus Circle because you knew the FBI would be looking there, which explains the weird connection.” Tony adds in.

Amanda snorts, “Okay, so I’m some kind of super spy murderer now??” She looks pointedly at her lame leg and stares at them. 

“No. You had an accomplice.” Tony answers, completely deadpan.

Amanda laughs, already moving away to head into her car, “Okay, tell you what. Take all my phone records, my emails, my bank statements- anything you want. It’s all going to be picked through when I get confirmed to run the agency anyway. But you can be the first to vet me.” She gives them one last look of superiority before getting into the passenger seat of the car while the driver takes off. 

Only three hours later, as promised, Tony and Peter get access to all of Amanda’s records, and yet there’s not a shred of evidence in anything. Not even a hint. 

Tony’s groaning, digging his palms into his temples. “I’m going to strangle something.”

“Don’t do that. Agent Coulson will kick us off the case.”

“Ugh. Agent Coulson. I can’t believe he wasted half an hour yelling at us about talking to Cleaver on our own.”

“Yeah, that sucked. He’s practically a machine.” Peter says lazily.

Tony snorts, “I’m sure DARPA has one in the works, along with mechanical dogs and sonic pressure shields and cargo transport-” Tony cuts himself off, whipping around to stare at the schematic photos of all of DARPA’s funded projects. 

“Mr. Stark?”

“I think I just figured out who Cleaver’s accomplice was.” He looks up, only looking mildly crazed, “You kiddies dissected rats yet?” 

They call Coulson once they’re certain that they know the truth and they all meet at Sarkisian’s lab where Amanda Cleaver has been waiting since she’s been called in. Tony throws open the door dramatically, “Ms. Cleaver, I have to commend you on a job well done. You were deliciously clever, but in the end, the rats gave you away.” 

Amanda’s lawyer steps in front of her, glaring at Coulson, “We came here as a favour to you. But I refuse to let my client be insulted.” 

“In my world, clever is a compliment, but alright.” Tony interjects, “But if you want insults hold on for a minute, because the words ‘triple murderer’ are gonna come up. I just want to set the stage first.”

And Peter settles in against a workstation, just watching Tony with a sort of fond half-smile. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get sick of watching Tony monologue his dramatic discoveries. They were always satisfying endings to always convoluted cases. 

“So, without any real training in murder, you were able to create a bloodbath in here that looked like a professional had done it. You did it all yourself.”

“You’re insane.” Amanda bites and Tony just wags his brows.

“You were pretty bold when you volunteered all your records. But I was wrong thinking that’d help me find the person who helped you. Because it wasn’t a person,” he cocks his head, “it was a machine. Peter?”

Peter pushes off the workstation, walking out the door to come back, lugging in a piece of equipment that reached his mid-torso into the room. 

“What’s that?” Amanda’s lawyer asks sharply.

“Oh that?” Tony says innocently, “That’s just a sonic pressure shield. It’s an ingenious and hyper fascist piece of tech. The DARPA scientists across the hall were working on it as a crowd-control device. It shoots out low-range sonic waves which vibrate at the same frequency as lung tissue.”

“The idea is for police to use it against protestors.” Peter adds, “It would disrupt their breathing and incapacitate them. Which you’d think would be illegal, but.” He shrugs. 

Amanda isn’t saying anything, just staring stony faced at the machine. “You,” Tony says grandly, “used it on our three victims and turned them into sitting ducks. By the time you entered the room, your targets were on the floor, suffocating. You could then approach them at your own speed and shoot them point blank without risking being overpowered.” 

Amanda shakes her head even as her lawyer taps her on the arm to stop, “This is crazy. You have no proof.” 

“Actually,” Peter cuts in, “that’s not true. The shield’s powers might be invisible, but its effects aren’t. You shot them before their lungs could be damaged badly enough to show up in an autopsy, but there was a fourth victim, Frank Weller’s pet lab rat.” 

Amanda’s mouth drops, “What?”

Tony hands the lawyer a photo, “As you can see, this otherwise healthy rodent died from asphyxiation.”

The lawyer shakes her head, “I don’t know what I’m seeing. But even if that’s true, who’s to say Ms. Cleaver did it?”

Coulson steps in, eyes grave, “I can. We found traces of blood on the shield, proving it was in the room when the deaths happened. And there was an odd streak on the baseboard in the closet across the hall where the shield is stored.” He looks at Amanda’s cane, “Black rubber streaks. We’re going to need you to hand your cane over so we can test it for a match.” 

Tony grins, “If it does, good luck finding a way to explain why you were locked in a closet with a bloody murder weapon.” 

Peter doesn’t want to, but he lies to Tony about where he’s going and hops on the train going the opposite direction. He’s sick of this. Sick of feeling like everything’s out of control. Like there _is_ no control. He’s sick of being afraid that everything will disappear in an instant. He’s sick of feeling like his world is fragile. Like his happiness is liquid streaming through his fingers. He tugs his hood up over his head, hoping the world would just do him a favour and disappear already. 

He walks the now familiar route to Howard Stark’s office, barging through the door without knocking. Howard looks surprised to see him, setting down his reading glasses and giving him a hard look, “Have you never heard of a phone call?”

“Some things are better said in person.” Peter answers, shutting the door behind him.

He doesn’t sit down, just stands there, in the middle of the room, short-sighted and coiled like a spring. 

“Some things like what?”

“Oh I don’t know. Things like violating campaign finance laws, bribing elected officials, that sorta stuff.” Howard’s jaw tightens just a fraction and Peter feels a thrill of vindication, “Mr. Stark doesn’t talk a lot about you, I meant it when I said it. But he said enough. I knew enough not to trust you, and I’m right to not have. I think you’ll recognize this.” 

Peter tosses the print out from the mansion real estate listing with a little SOLD! Banner plastered atop it. Howard picks it up, lets out a breath when he sees it, but otherwise, doesn’t react. “Yes. It’s a small estate in South Hampton I used to own.” 

“You sold it a few days after Mr. Stark relapsed.”

“Yes.” Howard’s voice is steady, his eyes sharp.

“The price jumped out at me. It’s three million below market value.” Peter crosses his arms, “Not a great deal for you.” 

Howard meets his glare steadily, “No. But not as bad as you’d think.”

Peter shrugs, “Obviously not. The buyer did you a huge favor. He funds a super PAC that supports the D.A and boom,” Peter snaps his fingers, “just like that, Mr. Stark’s no longer facing charges.”

“Would you like to sit down?” Howard gestures to the chair.

“No.” 

Howard nods. “I don’t know what to tell you. This is how the world works. If you aren’t strong enough to understand it, then why kick over rocks you don’t want to see beneath?” 

Peter doesn’t say anything.

“I take it you’re here alone because you haven’t told Tony.” He leans back in his chair, “Good. He never understood what it meant to be made of iron. He was born with a naïve sense of self-righteousness. He would probably just expose what I’ve done and land himself in prison just to spite me. And then he’d be back to where he always is. Adrift, uncertain…at risk.” 

That flare of defensiveness sparks up inside him, but Peter swallows hard and tries not to yell that Tony understands more of the world than Howard ever would. Instead, he keeps calm, “You took a risk too.”

“I’ve always taken risks to protect my son.”

Peter can’t help but laugh, it’s derisive and cruel, “Really? You do one nice thing and suddenly you’re always taking risks.”

“Don’t speak about what you do not know boy.”

Peter clenches his fist, “Well you’re not the only one who takes risks to protect him.” He looks Howard in the eye and wonders how many times Tony felt afraid doing the exact same thing, “Mr. Stark’s going to call you tonight and he’s going to accept your help. We’re going back to the NYPD.” 

Howard smiles, “That’s good news. I don’t see why you’d say like a threat.”

Peter tilts his head, “It doesn’t have to be. But Mr. Stark’s trying to change. He’s trying to be better. And if you’re going to be in his life again, that’s just going to make it harder. I just came to make something really, really clear.” Peter slaps his hands against the desk, leaning in close, “I’m not going to let you hurt him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will peter ever get a therapist?? who knows


	4. The Red Team

It’s eight a.m. and Tony’s flipping some eggs onto some toast- a true domestic feat- when Peter walks downstairs, his hair still a mess. “G’morning.” He greets, plopping down on the table and pouring himself some juice.

“Morning kid, sleep well?”

Peter shrugs, “Yeah, I guess.”

He takes a big gulp of some OJ before looking up, “So any big plans today while I’m stuck being bored in class?”

Tony rolls his eyes, “Can you relax. You go twice a week. You’ll live.”

Peter sighs, “Twice too much. I could be here instead, helping you solve cases.” He wags his brows and Tony expertly ignores him, setting down both their plates.

“Oh Petey, you know I love it when I get to use my favourite saying.” Tony smiles like an angel, “No.” 

Peter deflates.

Tony whistles some Beethoven.

It’s practically almost normal. 

Ever since they’d solved the Sarkisian case, Peter had been slowly bouncing back. A lot of it might have to do with being reinstated. Of course, the only people happy to see them were Thor, Steve, and the Captain. But still. It felt like coming home and Tony’s sure Peter felt the same. Yes, he’s still rough around the edges. Still on guard and snappy and almost paranoid. But it’s almost as if he felt more comfortable in his own skin. Like Peter knew a secret the world didn’t. 

Tony still isn’t sure if he likes it. And he knows that there’s more he should be doing. But it’s times like these where he feels in over his head. He doesn’t fully understand it. And what he can’t understand he can’t take apart and put back together again. Helplessly, his eyes flit over to the oven clock. Eight-seventeen. Just thirteen more minutes. And then he can go.

Tony’s still sitting pondering what to do when his desktop computer starts pinging uncontrollably. Peter shoots his head out of his arms to stare at it incredulously, “What the heck is happening.”

Tony on the other hand, is positively giddy, “It’s been so busy lately that I haven’t had time anymore, but since we were suspended from the NYPD-”

“-not a good thing!!-” Peter grumbles. 

Tony ignores him, “I have more time to check swirl-theory.com and talk conspiracy theories.” 

Peter makes a face, “You’re a tin-foil hat guy?”

Tony slaps a hand across his heart, the peak of offense, “How dare you.” 

Peter throws his hands in the air defensively, and Tony elects to be forgiving. “Conspiracy theories are ninety-nine percent of the time laughably wrong. Big groups of people can’t keep secrets. That’s just a fact. My hobby is the _theorists_. I love them probably.” He says dreamily, “You ever hear about the theory that the CIA invented crack?”

“Yeaaah.” Peter says slowly. 

Tony grins, “I started that one.” 

“Oh my God, Mr. Stark!” And for a second, the old Peter and the old banter is back and Tony’s heart feels full. 

“It’s fun! People will believe literally anything these days. Anyway, I’m planning on reaching out to Zapruder, the moderator’s avatar name. He said he had some good stuff about the California wildfires and I’m dying to find out whether it was the Chinese or the government.” 

Peter doesn’t look convinced but shrugs, “I mean whatever makes you happy…I guess??” he slides back his chair, checking his phone quickly, “Do I have to go?” He sighs. 

Tony reaches over to ruffle his hair and then keeps his hand atop Peter’s head, “Go be a kid. You’ll have fun.” 

Peter looks into Tony’s eyes like he’s trying to find a lie when he sighs again, standing up. “Fine. But we better be eating Thai today.”

“_Finally_, a compromise I can agree to.” 

Precisely five minutes after Peter leaves, Tony heads out himself. 

It’s now 9 a.m. in the morning and Tony’s sitting up straight in an uncomfortable fold-out chair in a slightly chilly community centre rec room. Martha’s speaking at the moment. Detailing how difficult it was to resist driving to the corner-store to pick up a bottle of wine when she started missing her ex so badly she wanted to destroy herself. 

There’s a lull when she’s finished, and Tony clears his throat. “Tony, would you like to go next?” Xin smiles at him gently. 

It’s nice of him that he still even asks what with Tony coming to meetings every day. Sometimes even twice. Sometimes more than he tells Peter because he doesn’t want him to worry. Especially since Peter’s half the reason Tony’s even here. 

Tony sniffs, “Sure. Yeah, why not. It’s been a rough couple weeks. Got reinstated back at the NYPD two weeks ago, so far so good. Almost like nothing’s changed except you know, for the fact that my kid’s going through his anger management phase and my dad’s in town and probably most definitely up to nothing good, but yeah. It’s fine.”

Tony feels his lungs expand and then contract. “I would’ve drunk myself half to death before. I’m supposed to fix things. But when it comes to things that really matter sometimes it feels like I’m just welding together pieces that keep detaching.” 

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it, “I used to think staying sober was boring. Can you believe that? ‘Cause I’m the great Tony Stark and only something interesting and challenging can keep me entertained and then I crack those too and I have to move on to the next thing. But since life keeps deciding I need a good sucker punch every now and again, I’ve come to realize that maybe even I could be wrong.” His lips curl up to show he’s just playing, but his heart doesn’t feel all that in it. 

Someone, a man with a dark beard and a kind of lumberjack aesthetic, looks at him from three aisles down. Tony meets his gaze. The man looks away. 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m being crushed by the inadequacy of just existing, like everyone’s just naturally gifted and I’m just lacking. But,” there’s an ironic smile on his lips, “genius is just an infinite capacity for taking pains right? Maybe life’s just the same.” 

When the meeting’s over, Tony stands right up and heads out the doors and down the hall when he hears someone call out his name. “Tony! Tony!”

He turns around, sees the woodcutter guy from before. “I have enough wood for my fireplace, thanks.” He says wryly.

The man looks confused, before looking down at his plaid shirt and Timberland boots. He laughs a little, “Hah. Never really made the connection before.” He looks up at Tony, smiling slightly, “I’m Gary by the way.”

Tony’s still confused about why this conversation’s even happening, but he holds out his hand to shake Gary’s anyway. “Hi Gary.”

Gary stuffs his hands in his pockets, tilting his head, “You probably wouldn’t remember me. But we used to go to the same meetings a while back. Actually uhh, the last time was two years, four months, and twelve days ago.”

Tony’s brows draw together, “That’s scarily specific.”

Gary shrugs, “Yeah it uh, it was also the last time I used.” 

Tony looks at him like he’s expecting him to go on. 

“I was having a really rough go of it. Obviously. But something you said really inspired me.”

“I hear that from time to time.”

Gary smiles, “You said, my mind is like a racing engine tearing itself to pieces because it’s not connected up to the work it was built for. You were talking about being in rehab and how it was hard because there was only one thing you were made to do and being away from it made staying sober almost impossible.” 

Tony rubs at his nose, looks away.

“But when you got out,” Gary says, “you got back into it. And that made all the difference.” 

Gary points to himself, “That really stuck with me. So I decided to do it too. Focus on my work. Use it to help me get better. Now it’s been more than two years and I’ve worked really hard but uhh,” he looks at Tony, shrugs again, “it all started with you.” 

Tony looks at him, unsure still, of what is happening. “I’m glad you’re doing better now bud.” He finally says, clapping the man on the shoulder. “I wish you the best.”

Gary smiles, “Thanks. You too.” He hands over a business card with another awkward grin, “It sounded like you were going through some rough stuff, if you ever wanted to talk to someone, you could always call me.”

Tony takes the card and stares at it before stuffing it in his pocket. 

“You helped me, I’d like to return the favor.” 

Tony nods at him, “Thanks. Appreciate it. Unfortunately, I have to jet, I only get so much quiet time at home while Pete’s in school.” 

Tony smiles a goodbye to Gary and heads out the door all the while having eyes stare into his back. 

Peter’s bored out of his mind as his teacher explains the real-life applications of integrals when his phone vibrates in his pocket. Making sure to be sneaky, he tugs it out only to smile. 

_ur last class is *beaker emoji* and u already know that so meet me after calc_

The next message is an address and the next is your basic please don’t tell the team I told you to leave school or they’ll lecture me and we can’t have that message. 

Peter’s eyes glance at the clock and the giddy energy in his body doesn’t fizzle out until he’s in the Uber and out in the real world. 

Peter steps out of the car just as Tony opens the door of a cute little house with shrubs planted along the walkway. He waves and Tony gestures him inside. “So who’s house is this?” Peter asks, stepping into an airy home with beige walls and dozens of stuffed bookshelves.

“Zapruder’s.”

Peter’s expression twists, “The conspiracy guy?”

“Yup.” Tony says, popping the ‘p,’ “His real name is Len Pontecorvo though and I tried to bait him today with the fire stuff but he didn’t bite, which was weird. So then I emailed a bunch of his friends on the site and turns out no one’s heard from him since Sunday.” 

“Right. Yeah. So obviously we break into his house. Yeah.” 

“Well to be fair, his friends were afraid for the worst. Kidnapped by the KGB, trapped in a secret NASA prison, you know.” 

At Peter’s expression Tony laughs, “Obviously I don’t believe them, relax. Everyone knows NASA doesn’t have prisons. But I _do_ think the poor sucker could’ve dropped from a heart attack. Hence, letting myself in when he didn’t answer the door.” 

“Oh great, we just got reinstated and now they’re gonna arrest us for trespassing.” Peter groans when Tony taps him on the arm.

“Don’t worry kid. Len has bigger fish to fry than us right now.” He points down the hall into another living room.

Len Pontecorvo is swinging in the air, hung from his weight machine, his pants pulled down so that he’s only in his boxers. 

When Steve sees them, he breaks out into a grin.

“Woah there Cap, see something you like?” Tony teases.

“I’m just glad you two are back. Can’t a guy be happy for his friends?”

Tony rolls his eyes, “Cheeseball.” 

Thor comes up behind them, “You’re something else though Stark. Only you could come back to work and find something as weird as this.”

Tony snorts, “What? You mean don’t find strange autoerotic strangler cases every day?” 

Thor turns to the body, assessing it for a moment, “So are we ruling out suicide?” 

“I mean we won’t know for sure until we can examine the ligature marks on his neck but look at the belt.” Tony says, pointing at it, “It’s a size thirty-eight. He can’t be more than a thirty-two.” 

Steve narrows his eyes, examining the body, “Mmm, he could’ve lost weight.”

Tony shrugs, “Yeah, or he could have been strangled by a bigger guy and then hung like a Christmas ornament for the kicks.” 

Peter walks around the body, stopping and pointing, “And look here, his finger on his right hand is fractured,” he looks up at Tony, “Dr. Strange went over breaks and stuff a while ago. I don’t know if it’s possible to do all this if your dominant hand is in pain like that.” 

Tony looks proud.

“Alright, we’ll tell the ME to look at the neck and finger okay?” Steve says, hands raised like he was trying to calm them down. 

“Don’t worry, I already texted Bruce, you’re good.”

Thor tries to hide his snickers.

“Alright so are we doing the whole split up and search the house thing yet or what?” 

A while later, Peter comes down with a box of things, Tony trailing behind him. Everyone else seems to have gone, but Tony knows Steve and Thor are just outside. “I didn’t find any of the usual murder motives.” Peter starts, “He doesn’t owe anyone money and he’s not sleeping with someone’s wife.”

“Actually, he wasn’t sleeping with anyone.” Tony interjects.

Peter makes a pained face, “Don’t be mean, he’s _dead_.” 

“Yeah. And not because of any of the good stuff.” 

Peter bites his lip, “Well there’s one thing we didn’t check.” He says, pointing to the rows of binders behind them, each labeled with some ridiculous conspiracy name.

“Noooo, they’re brain rot Peter. Trust me.” He points to the first one, “This one’s about how North Korea is the number one manufacturer of high school textbooks, this one is about how the Supreme Court is filled with Scientologists,” he stops, mildly intrigued, “ehh, sure why not, let’s take these with us too.” 

“Are you sure we can take this stuff?” Peter asks hesitantly.

“No. But if the boys in blue didn’t take it, I’d say it’s fair game.” 

“Maybe he _did_ find a conspiracy and got killed for it.” Peter muses. 

“If I had a spray bottle, I’d spray you right now.” Tony warns, “Len died from something conventional, I guarantee it. Information is like water in a hose, it wants to get out, it’s just nature! We went over this.” 

Peter looks almost disappointed as he files the binders away in a box for them to take when he notices a littler terrarium sitting on the table. There’s a turtle about the size of his hand inching around the leaves, poking its little head out of its shell. 

Peter’s immediately in love.

“Mr. Stark! We have to save him! He’ll die if he’s left alone!” he insists, reaching into the tank to pull the turtle out gently and shove it in Tony’s face, “Look how cute it is!!” 

Tony’s face is deadpan. “I’m gonna have to take care of it won’t I?”

“No! I’ll do it! How hard could keeping a turtle be?” 

“First of all, it’s a tortoise.”

Peter gives him a wide grin, “Pleeeeaaseee.” He holds up the tortoise next to his cheeks for extra cute.

Tony pulls his lip, “Fine. And it’s a girl by the way.”

“The prettiest girl.” Peter says solemnly, before cheering, “Yay! Thanks Mr. Stark!” 

Peter dips his hand back in the tank to drop her back in when he stops. 

There’s something atop the leaves, something that doesn’t belong. Along the side were little rocks but one of them was not like the others. Peter sets the tortoise down, grabbing hold of one of the bigger rocks only to find that it was made of plastic. He twists it slightly and the top comes right apart in his hand. 

He gapes. “Mr. Stark?” 

Tony comes up behind him, peering over his shoulder, expression suddenly grave. “Okay Peter, we’ve officially entered into the next part of our training.” Tony picks the device out of the rock and twists it between his fingers, “It’s a listening device.” 

Peter can’t even contain his excitement. 

“_Conspiracy!_”

While Tony sets to work on the listening device, Peter skims through all the conspiracy binders. They’re working in a companiable silence before the sound of smashing fills the air. Peter runs to the kitchen in a panic, heart pounding, “Mr. Stark??”

Tony’s standing with a mallet over a shattered bug, hitting it more just for kicks. Peter’s jaw drops. “You brought it all the way here just to break it?” He asks incredulously.

“Well I had to study it first, so I turned it off. But it’s better to destroy this type of stuff. You never know who’s on the other end.” 

Peter sighs, rubbing at his chest where his heart is. “Well okay, did you learn something then?” 

“A couple things actually. First, this little thingy-majig can’t be bought commercially, meaning you can’t be a civilian.”

Peter freezes, eyes wide, “Wait. Are you saying it really was NASA?!”

“_No_. But I did find spyware on Len’s laptop too. Someone out there was definitely monitoring him.”

Peter rubs his chin, running the shards of the device through his fingers, “But why though? Was he actually onto something?”

Tony snorts, “Not likely. I’ve met a lot of geniuses in my time, but Len Pontecorvo wasn’t one of them. His thinking was too Hollywood, most of it insane.”

Peter chews on his lip, “I don’t know Mr. Stark, one of them didn’t seem so crazy.” He treads back into the living room, pulling out a thin binder labelled THE RED TEAM. 

“The Red Team?” Tony says skeptically.

“I know, I know, just listen.” He gestures for them to sit down. “It’s about the war games. Every year the Army War College does a series of them.”

Tony nods, “Yeah, they get military people and civilian experts together to make two teams, the USA, the Blue Team, and the bad guys.” 

“The Red Team.” Peter confirms, “So apparently, the players change every year, the scenarios too. But every year, the results are published in trade journals.” Peter flips the binder open, showing the various excerpts, “Except for two-thousand-and-nine. Those were classified right away.”

Tony leans forward, flipping through the pages, “Why?”

Peter shrugs, “Nobody knows. All we know is that the game was designed to test the military response to an activated sleeper cell in New York City. The Red Team’s goal was to cause maximum damage and chaos with minimum resources.” 

Tony strokes his beard, looking at the game memo. 

“Getting into the speculation part, Pontecorvo believed the Red Team did better than they were supposed to. They uncovered a flaw in national security. Something so big and so bad that they made it a federal secret right after they announced it.” 

Peter shrugs, “I don’t know Mr. Stark. It sounds pretty scary.”

Tony sighs, “Yeah, worst part is it doesn’t even sound that crazy.” 

“The identities of the Red Team are classified, but Pontecorvo found one of them, a counterinsurgency expert called Martin Nagowski.” He slides over a sheet with a photo and some basic information.

“Peter, he’s been dead for a year.”

“Well yeah, there has to be a conspiracy for a conspiracy theorist to care right? The police report said he was mugged. But Pontecorvo thinks the mugging was staged and that he was assassinated to prevent him from revealing the Red Team’s secrets.”

Tony flips the binder shut, “Okay you lost me.” 

“Well it’s easy enough to prove isn’t it?” Peter defends, reopening the binder to show 5 black rectangles with question marks and 1 photo of Nagowski. “We just have to find the rest of the team.” 

Tony looks skeptical, before giving in. “Oh what the hell. We have the time.”

“Awesome! I’ll just feed Karen and we can go.” 

Tony makes a face, “Karen?”

“What?” Peter says defensively, “She looks like a Karen!” 

Tony shakes his head, smiling, “Whatever makes you happy kid.” And he means it. Means it from the bottom of his heart.

If solving cases helped him keep his sobriety, they probably helped Peter manage his own feelings just as much. And if he was feeling good enough to feel enough love in his heart to start taking care of a whole other entity, then maybe he was starting to feel good enough to care about himself. “Now come on, let’s go uncover some government secrets.” 

After hours of researching and digging through Pontecorvo’s notes, Tony and Peter managed to compile a list of people they were certain were on the Red Team all those years ago. Which is how they end up at a long-term care facility in Queens with Stephen complaining in the front seat. “Tony, when you said you’d make time for our meeting today, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

“Sorry doc, this whole thing is too weird to let go. Plus, what were you even doing anyway?”

“That’s none of your concern now is it?” Stephen says snidely.

“That’s code for grading papers.” Tony says, flashing Peter a teasing look with the rear-view mirror. 

Peter stifles his giggles behind his hand while Stephen glares. “Fine, I’m here anyway, you might as well fill me in.” Stephen says grandly.

“We’re going to visit Carlo Anillo, he booked travel to the town that houses the War College on game days. He has a PhD in civil engineering.” Tony supplies.

“Okay, so why’s he here?”

“He was admitted earlier in the year with early-onset Alzheimer’s and apparently, his mind deteriorated in just weeks.” Stephen looks marginally surprised, “The weird part is that no one in his family has a history of the disease.”

Stephen strokes his goatee. “That _is_ weird. Almost every early-onset case is familial.” 

“When Peter first mentioned the whole conspiracy thing, I was skeptical. But one mugging and one insensate in a long-term care facility is enough to make me just a little curious.” 

“Well you can’t exactly give someone Alzheimer’s.” Stephen says slowly before his face contorts, “Wait, did you say conspiracy??”

Tony nods his head to Peter who’s more than happy to give an overly embellished, only slightly dramatic re-telling of their day. 

They park in a mostly empty lot and head inside, requesting to speak to Carlo. The nurses at the facility are sweet and lead them to the visitation room to wait while they bring him in. They wheel Carlo in on a wheelchair and the only way Peter can describe him is…not present. It’s eerie, almost like he’s void on the inside where it matters. Almost like he’s blank. “Mr. Anillo?” Tony says softly, “My name’s Tony Stark, and these are my associates, Peter Parker and Stephen Strange. We have a few questions we’d like to ask.” 

“Sure,” he says, voice quiet, “if you want.” 

“Do you remember any of your time before the hospital?” 

He shakes his head, “I’m sorry no.”

“Okay, how about your work at Colombia?” he shakes his head again, “The army? You participated in the war games.” Tony prompts.

Something lights up in Carlo’s eyes. “My dad was in the Marines. Vietnam.” Carlo looks away, focus dashed.

A few seconds pass, “Mr. Anillo?” Stephen asks. 

He looks up, confused, “Sorry, did you ask me something?” 

Stephen narrows his eyes, calls for the nurse who’s been watching them at the back of the room, “Does he do that often?” 

“You mean space out?”

Stephen curls his lip, “Sure. Except he isn’t spacing out. He’s having a micro-seizure.”

The nurse shakes her head, laughing slightly, “Oh no. I asked the doctor about it. She said that seizures don’t happen to people with the Alzheimer’s Carlo has.” She smiles before turning to lead Carlo out of the room stating he’s had enough.

Tony turns to his friend, “How confident are you that that was a seizure.”

“Extremely.” 

Tony’s expression twists, “You might not be able to give someone Alzheimer’s, but you can copy the symptoms. Alzheimer’s patients might not have seizures, but people poisoned with domoic acid do.”

Peter furrows his brows, “That’s the thing from rotten shellfish right?”

“It’s also a neurotoxin.” Stephen nods, “It attacks the hippocampus, it’s where your memory is stored. If you gave someone a large enough dose, they’d lose virtually their entire memory.” Stephen turns around as though trying to find Carlo, “They’d just look like an Alzheimer’s patient.” 

“Oh no.” Peter mutters, starting to look very, very unsettled, “If Mr. Anillo was poisoned, that means someone really is targeting the Red Team.” He looks up at Tony, “And that means they murdered Mr. Pontecorvo too.” 

“It’s someone smart too. One murder, one poisoning, he’s thought this through.” Tony says, already rushing out the door. 

“Stephen! I’ve never felt like drinking less, let’s postpone!” 

Tony orders Stephen an Uber as he jets into his own car, putting his phone on Bluetooth. “Call Cap.” He commands.

Peter snickers into his hands.

Steve picks up on the second ring. “Tony,” he greets, “I’ve been trying to call you-” 

Tony cuts him off with zero hesitation, “Ok look, I know this is gonna sound nuts but just listen. I’m pretty sure that Len Pontecorvo’s murderer poisoned this guy called Carlo Anillo and killed another guy, Martin Nagowski and is probably gonna strike again soon.” Tony makes a sharp turn on the road, “We need to look into the two-thousand and nine war games and-”

“Tony.” Steve interjects, “We already arrested Pontecorvo’s murderer.”

Tony’s face scrunches, “Excuse me?” 

“That’s why I’ve been calling. It’s one of those chatroom guys, a Gary Sullivan. They got into something called a flame war? It was all over the moon landing being fake, I don’t know. But Sullivan confronted him in person and things went south. He apparently felt so bad he turned himself in.”

Tony doesn’t say a word, his eyes rife with confusion, “Look,” Steve says, “I don’t know anything about a poisoning, but Pontecorvo’s murder was an accident.” 

Tony grips the wheel hard when Steve exits the call. “That doesn’t make sense.” 

Peter’s brows furrow. “Something isn’t right.” 

Tony rubs the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh, “So let me get this straight, _neither_ of you believe that Neil Armstrong walked on the moon?”

Gary Sullivan is positively affronted, “Of course not!” as if that was the most ridiculous part of this conversation, “That wasn’t the issue. The issue is _who faked it??_” 

Tony gapes at him as though not fully comprehending the extent of his craziness when he throws his hands up, barging out the room. “Nope! I’m done!” 

He stops suddenly, as Fury catches his eye from where he’s standing down the hall on his phone, “Maria sweetheart, I gotta go. But dinner’s still on for tomorrow. And bring Carly over, your mom and I could use more competition when we play taboo.” 

Fury clicks his phone shut and lets out an amused breath as he takes in Tony’s irritation. “You must be pretty heated if you’re not gonna make a game night joke.”

Tony looks like he just about wants to die, “That man is quite possibly the most obnoxiously stupid person on the planet. I’m trying to figure out what the hell is happening. It’s clear that guy’s no mastermind of anything and maybe he killed Pontecorvo by accident, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong about the Red Team.”

“You know,” Fury says wryly, “you could leave the interrogating to the people actually qualified to do it and then go do what you actually want to be doing.” 

Tony presses a hand to his heart, “Captain you wound me.”

“Go on Stark, you think there’s some bigger thing going on, then I’ll bite.”

“I respect you more every day!” Tony calls out already turning the corner where he meets Peter who hands him one of two giant coffees. 

“Ugh, you’re an angel kid.” Tony praises, taking a giant gulp.

“I’m still watching your caffeine intake.” Peter warns, “But this is a special case. So what now?”

Tony jerks his head to get Peter to follow him, walking fast, “Now, we’re going to go trace the surveillance device we found in Dead Guy Number One’s house back to the source.” 

“You know, when you said we were gonna find out who was bugging Len’s house, you made it sound more exciting than this.” Peter complains, stretching out in the passenger seat of the car.

“Hush child, there’s no other way.”

They’re staking out Len’s house, waiting for their suspect to enter. The police only just took down the yellow tape and released the house an hour ago, so if their culprit was going to come back, it only could have been now.

“We don’t even know if he’s going to come back though.” Peter says.

“If you put one bug, odds are you put in more. Plus,” Tony turns to Peter with a fervor, “you know how expensive that stuff is? You bet your ass I’d be going back for my bugs too.”

Peter snorts, settling deeper into his seat, “Okay Mr. Stark. Keep appropriating poor people culture.” 

Tony points at a commercial van, “That TV satellite guy’s been here about twenty minutes, he clearly isn’t fixing anything. So my bet is that’s his lame attempt at a disguise. He’ll go in eventually and then we’ll just follow him and bada-bing, bada-boom.” 

And like clockwork, the man enters Len’s house. Twenty minutes later, he emerges, looking impeccably neutral. 

Peter hums in appreciation, “Not bad Mr. Stark.”

“What’d I tell you?”

He starts the engine and together, the two of them follow the man to a non-descript office building. They wait until he enters before following in after him, watching the elevator light up to the floor he chooses before choosing the same when theirs arrives. There’s only one door at the end of the hallway on floor nine and it’s locked with a mechanical pin pad and a camera. 

Tony just rolls his eyes, pulling out a plastic baggy and shaking the broken bits of surveillance device around in front of it until the door beeps open. “Fantastic. I hate knocking.” He declares, striding right in. 

The inside is abandoned. It might have once been a giant office space, the large conference style table with all the chairs still in the middle of the room, offices with plush chairs and giant desks surrounding it. But there’s no supplies or paraphernalia or anything at all to suggest that the space might be used at all.

Peter frowns, eyes flitting all around, “What _is_ this place?”

Just then, a man emerges from the corner, well dressed in a suit and tie. “Howdy.” He smiles and Tony immediately stifles a groan. “We mostly do business by appointment here.”

“Tragic.” Tony replies, “So who are you? NSA? CIA? Army Intelligence?”

The man just smiles, “We do market research. That’s all.”

Tony makes a fake convinced face, looking around at the empty office.

“Work’s been slow.” The man says.

“Uh huh. Okay, well either way. Here’s your bug back.” Tony tosses the baggy across the conference desk and the man picks it up on the other side, not commenting on it, before setting it down on the table. 

“Who are you?” He asks, that same pleasant smile still on his face. 

Tony points at himself, “I’m Tony Stark, consultant detective. He’s Peter Parker, consultant detective junior. You?”

“Bill.” The man finally says.

“Ok hi Bill. I’m sure we’re all busy so let’s cut to the chase. The man that just walked in here was surveilling Len Pontecorvo.”

Bill’s eyes widen in surprise, “Bob? No, his sister works here. They’re just getting lunch.” 

Tony’s eyes practically roll back into his head as he makes an oh-God-shut-up expression, “Anyway, you guys were surveilling Pontecorvo and also the two-thousand and nine Red Team members. Or those you haven’t attacked yet anyway.”

“I have no idea what you’re-”

“Save it Bill. I just came here to tell you that if you’re planning on taking them out, I know exactly who each and every one of them are.” 

Bill extends himself, face guarded. 

“Veena Mehta, professor of anthropology, Solomon Zyckner, probability and statistics guru, Sheldon Frost, the cartographer, Harold Dresden, mathematician, Leland Tantowicz, weapons field expert, and of course, Walter McClenahan, Lieutenant Colonel, retired.”

Bill’s voice is even keeled, “Sounds like they’d make an interesting dinner party.” 

Tony stares at him dead-on, “Nothing’s going to happen to them. I’m going to make sure of it.” 

Bill just smiles, “Personally, I think that if the army wanted some people dead in two-thousand and nine, they’d have already killed them by now. Get some helicopters, some rocket launchers, take care of it all in one night.” He looks at Tony, throws back the baggy, “And you can keep that. Never seen it before.” 

Outside, Peter rocks on the balls of his feet, “So…was that a waste of time or…?”

“Actually, it was just what I needed. I was bullshitting about knowing the names. I mean, I knew some of them, but wasn’t actually sure about all of them.”

Peter gapes, “You were testing him?”

“He thinks he’s so hard to read. But he ground his teeth when I said the right names and not for the wrong ones. Lucky for me, now I know them all.” 

They’re in the car when Peter’s phone rings, “Peter, why does Tony even have a phone if he’s never going to answer it?” Steve demands, exasperated and tired. 

“In his defense, he’s driving right now.” 

Steve sighs, “Fine. I’ll let this one slide. But listen, tell him that the tox screen results came back on Carlo Anillo. He’s been poisoned with domoic acid.” 

Tony pulls over on the curb, pulling the phone from Peter’s hands, “Steve listen, I’m going to text you some names, you have to find them all and bring them into the station. Peter will fill you in.” 

Near the end of the day, the conference room in the NYPD precinct is filled with three people, the fourth just arriving. The man is scruffy, unshaven, wild and untamed. Tony nods at him, “Lieutenant-Colonel Walter McClanahan, you’re a hard man to find. Six addresses in just two years.” He whistles.

The man glares at him with suspicion, “What do you people want?”

“Follow me and I’ll show you.” 

Tony leads him into the conference room and the man stiffens before trying to keep a blank face, “Who are these people?”

Tony humors him.

“That’s Veena Mehta, Harold Dresden, and Sheldon Frost. But I’m pretty sure you know that.” Tony gestures for him to take a seat before addressing the room.

“I know that you were all on the Red Team.”

At those words, Walter stiffens like a board and turns, “I’m a free citizen of the United States and I want to leave.” 

From the back of the room, Fury regards him with his one eye, “No one’s forcing you to be here.” He says calmly.

Harold, an old, well-dressed man, gets up, touches Walter’s arm. “Hey, it’s okay. They’re not from the army. Just sit down, let’s hear what they want.” 

Begrudgingly, Walter sits, still looking suspicious and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

“All of you are in danger.” Tony begins, and all of them turn their attention onto him, “Martin Nagowski is dead and I’m certain his murder was planned. I know for a _fact_ that Carlo Anillo was poisoned.”

The silence in the room is deadly.

“I know that you’re all here because the four of you were brilliant enough to develop a plan that paralyzed the Army with fear. So what I’m hoping for today is some insight into who’s trying to get you.” 

Sheldon, a younger looking man with curly hair and a handsome face nods. “We should talk. But I’m not going first.”

Harold leans over, “We took an _oath_ Sheldon.”

Veena’s voice is gentle, “If we all talk, nobody can report anyone else.”

But Harold shakes his head, “Saying a single word to these people is treason.” 

There’s a stiff silence before Sheldon stands up, looking afraid, “I’m not comfortable with this.” He says, before walking right out the door.

Veena sighs, crumpling a napkin in her hand. “I’m sorry.” She says, dropping the napkin in the trash as Tony yells after them, “You can’t run from this!”

Walter and Harold leave right after and Fury sighs, throwing his hands up in defeat, “Well, we warned them.” 

Steve crosses his arms, looking disappointed, “Maybe one of them will change their mind and tell us something.”

“Actually, I think someone just did.” Peter says hesitantly, pointing at the trash can. 

He reaches in, pulling out the napkin and unfolding it to reveal a short message.   
_Army Intel Captain. Code name Yossarian. Find him._

“Mr. Stark! You can’t use Karen as a paperweight!” Peter screeches, picking Karen up to cradle her next to his cheek.

“I guarantee you she doesn’t mind.” Tony replies, clearly unaffected.

“There’s a perfectly good rock on your desk!”

“That’s a fossil I’m working on for a case, I can’t exactly go tampering with the evidence can I?” 

Peter makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, turning to put Karen back in her tank when Tony stops, “Hey Pete, c’mere.” 

“What is it?”

“Take a look.” He says, sliding over a photo of two men, “I’ve been looking into past Red Team exercises and found that photo by accident honestly. Anyway it’s-”

“It’s that guy! From before. Bill.” Peter interrupts.

Tony nods, “His real name’s apparently Todd Clarke. He was a first lieutenant when that picture was taken.” He shrugs, “Could’ve been Captain by two-thousand and nine…”

Peter looks up, “You think he had something to do with our Red Team?”

“Well what do we know. He worked at the Army War College. He was surveilling Pontecorvo.” Tony gets up, stretches his arms behind his head, “I’m pretty sure we found Yossarian.” 

Peter mulls it over, “What do you think they found. What could’ve been so bad?”

Tony blows air through his lips, “Don’t know. Don’t care. All I’m focusing on are the murders.” 

“Yeah but Mr. Stark. We live in New York. Their plan to attack it was so good they made it a _national secret_.”

“Pete.” And Tony looks at him with regretful eyes, “anything can happen. Peace is fragile. Doesn’t mean we don’t keep living. Or trying to stop the bad things from happening before they do.” 

Peter still looks unconvinced when the doorbell rings. He makes a face, turning to Tony who looks more annoyed than confused. Sighing, he gets up and opens the door to find a woman in a well-tailored suit and sharp eyes. “Tony Stark?”

Tony grins, “Depends on who’s asking.”

Ignoring him the woman pulls out a photo of the man from before, “Do you know a man named Todd Clarke?”

Fake realization dawns in Tony’s eyes, “Oh you mean Bill? You know, it’s true what they say about speaking of the devil and all that. You in market research too?”

Tony hears Peter get up off the couch to come peer around and starts flailing his hand behind him to make sure Peter stops where he is. When the rustling stops, he assumes the kid got the hint. 

“Mr. Stark,” the woman begins, “you leveled a series of accusations at him earlier this afternoon and-”

“Oh come on seriously? Blame him for having the lamest excuse for bugging that poor guy’s house in the century.”

The woman pauses, “Colonel Clarke was shot and killed outside his home earlier this evening.” 

Tony blinks.

The woman steps forward, “I’m going to need you to come with me.” 

“Woah wait a minute!” Peter yells, storming from behind the wall to glare at the woman, “We don’t even know who _you_ are and you come in here accusing him of something he didn’t do. We’re trying to figure out _why_ people are dying. Todd Clarke died for the same reason the other people of the Red Team did and you guys are too caught up in your own egos to even look at the evidence!” 

The woman’s expression doesn’t change but Tony sees an almost imperceptible clenching of her jaw and he turns, hands up to his chest in fake defense, “Hey, settle down kid. It’s fine. They need to get some info and incidentally, so do I.”

“They’re wasting our _time!_” Peter insists.

Tony’s brows arch up in sarcasm, “That’s bureaucracy baby.” 

But he sees the anger swirling in Peter’s eyes and Tony rests two hands on his shoulders. “Can you keep researching please. And get in touch with Steve. I’ll call you.”

He turns to go, waving cheerily at the woman when Peter reaches out to grab the back of his shirt, “Wait- just- hold on.” And the anger’s disappeared and all that’s left is the truth. 

Anger is what boils when fear is left to simmer. 

Ah. Tony sees it now. He’s been looking at this all wrong hasn’t he? 

He tucks that little revelation behind in his mind and slow walks forward so that Peter’s hand falls in the air. “Pete, I’m coming right back.” He promises. 

And then he’s gone. 

The woman, Big Meanie, Tony’s elected to call her, paces around the small conference room while he stares at her, bored. “You accused Todd Clarke of masterminding some sort of plot to kill citizens who allegedly took part in Army war games and then by nineteen-hundred hours, he’s dead.” She smacks her hands on the table and Tony smirks.

“Saucy, aren’t you?”

She glares, “That coincidence is striking.”

Tony groans, throwing his neck back to roll around in the chair, “For the last time, it’s not striking. It’s not even a coincidence. Like my kid was yelling about back when you picked me up for what’s turning out to be a terrible date honestly- Colonel Clarke was killed by the same person who poisoned Carlo Anillo.”

Big Meanie crosses her arms, “Anillo is a private citizen. His poisoning has nothing to do with this.”

“Yeah, so you’ve said. And I said what I’ve already said. So why are either of us here.” 

“Because your story doesn’t make sense.”

Attention grabbed, Tony sits forward, arms crossed over the table, “It’s not a story. It’s facts. Clarke wasn’t on the Red Team yes, but he was Army Intelligence, and he taught at the War College. Some simple deductive work and you’re at Fact two, he was Yossarian, the team’s liaison during the exercise.”

Big Meanie’s still watching him with distrustful eyes.

“That means what? It means Clarke knew everything the Red Team did, and that makes him dangerous in the eyes of the killer who may or may not be affiliated with the government. So speaking of,” Tony tilts his head, “where were _you_ at nineteen-hundred hours.”

“Excuse me? Do you think this is funny?”

Tony’s eyes darken, “I don’t find murder funny ever.” 

“Then why are you spewing out bullshit like government assassinations.”

Tony throws his hands up in the air, “I literally can’t talk about this anymore.”

Big Meanie smiles, “Great. Then we’re taking you to INSCOM in Virginia for further questioning.”

Tony yawns, stretching his arms behind his head, “No need agent, I have an alibi. There are half a dozen security cameras hidden in my house. If you wanted to go get them, you’d see that I was home all evening today.” 

Big Meanie glares. 

Tony just grins.

Peter shoots daggers at him when Tony walks out even after he pumps his fist in the air a la Breakfast Club and yells “Freedom!”

“You had an alibi this whole time and you still let them take you down there.”

Tony frowns, “What? No yay you’re not going to a secret prison party?”

“Mr. Stark!”

Tony wraps an arm around Peter as they walk, knocking his head gently on Peter’s own. “I told you. I needed them to interrogate me so that I could counter-interrogate _them_. And by the way, it worked. Whoever’s killing the Red Team didn’t work at that field office. Obviously, they don’t have a clue about what’s going on.” 

“So what?” Peter asks petulantly.

“So,” Tony says with emphasis, “I’m more sure that the killer is someone who knew the Red Team’s plans. It gets complicated though. Because who else knew the names? Did it go up a chain of command? Did it leak to another agency? Or is it the team themselves?”

“Picking each other off one by one?” Peter asks, a morbid quality in his voice.

Tony frowns, “Regardless, we need the NYPD to take them into protective custody.” 

Steve calls Tony an hour later with bad news. “We couldn’t find McClenaghan, but we put a BOLO out considering how intensely he booby-trapped his apartment.”

“What do you mean booby-trapped?” Tony presses.

“He rigged an assault rifle up to his door so if anyone opened it, it would shoot.”

Tony shoots up from the couch, “Are there deaths? Who was hurt?”

“Don’t worry. Polk and Mahone were lucky the shells were filed with rock salt. They’re gonna be in the hospital for a while but they’ll be okay. But that’s not it. We found more weapons in his place. More rifles, knives,” Steve pauses, “and a nine-millimeter pistol.”

Tony stops, “Clarke was killed with a nine-millimetre.” 

Steve hums in his throat, “We’re going to run a comparison ballistics test, but I’d say we have a suspect.” 

“How about the others? Do you have them all?”

“Yeah, Mehta and Frost are at the hotel, but Dresden’s taking a while to pack. He’s being protected by some uniforms though.”

Tony mulls that over, “Okay, I’m going over there. Talk later.” 

When he hangs up Steve just sighs. There were some things he _didn’t_ miss.

Harold Dresden’s home is extravagant and lavish but what Tony and Peter find in the living room is unexpected. He’s crouching on his knees in front of a middle-aged woman with lovely curled hair in a wheelchair, feeding her some soup. 

“Mr. Dresden,” Tony says, “we’re surprised to see you hadn’t gone to the hotel yet.”

He smiles sheepishly, getting up, “They said we were okay for a bit,” he gestures behind him, “there’s not a lot we can do quickly these days.” 

He gestures the two of them over, “This is my wife Darleen, she has limb-onset ALS.” His smile, though loving, is tinged with sadness, “Two years now.”

Tony smiles at Darleen, “Lovely to meet you. And I wish we had more time to chat, but we’re here because Walter McClenaghan has emerged as a suspect in the Red Team murders.”

Harold shakes his head, looking heartbroken, “You think Walt did this?”

Tony’s lip twists sympathetically, “We’re here because you seemed to have a bond with him back at the station.”

Harold nods hesitantly, “I got to know him after we were done. He’s weird, but he’s brilliant. We stayed in touch and I suppose I became his friend. Maybe his only friend.”

Tony takes a step, “Then help us find him.”

Harold looks away.

“If he isn’t the killer,” Tony presses, “then he’s in danger. And if he _is_ the killer…then we need to stop him before he hurts anyone else.” 

Harold crosses his arms, looking deep in thought when Tony looks at him oddly, “Wait, why isn’t it weird to you that he could be a suspect?”

Harold sighs, shrugging like he just couldn’t fathom the world, “Without going into specifics, the plan we all came up with back in the day was…disturbing. It’s a lot to live with and it did different things to all of us.”

“I got back in touch with my brother, started going to church again. Walt he…” Harold rubs at his temple sadly, “let’s say he went in a different direction.”

“See…there are people who want to know what we found out. Bad people.” He emphasizes, “And Walt was convinced someone was going to sell our secret. After Nagowski got killed, Walt told me to look on the bright side, every time one of us dies, there are fewer people to sell the plan.”

“That just makes it worth more.” Peter says quietly, a realization dawning in his eyes. 

Harold nods, “I thought he was kidding.” He says brokenly.

Tony’s jaw grits, “He was trying to drive up the price. With the Red Team dead, any potential buyer would have to come to him. He could charge a fortune.” He snaps his gaze to Harold, “You know where he is, don’t you.”

Harold looks away, disappointed, “He bought some land out in New Jersey.” 

At that moment, Tony’s phone rings. It’s Thor.

“Thor, McClenaghan might be in a bunker out in Jersey.”

Thor’s voice is heavy, “No, he isn’t. We already found him. And he isn’t the killer.” 

Tony and Peter meet up with Steve and Thor in a dirty alleyway. Thor leads them down towards where a body lay in a pool of blood on the ground.

“A homeless fellow found him and reported it to us. He was shot once in the back of the head about twenty-four hours ago.”

“Then, the killer dragged him over here, and left him like that.” Steve finishes. 

Tony nods, crouching over the body to examine it further.

“What are those aqua fibers on his shirt?” Peter asks, looking up.

“Oh,” Steve’s mouth presses into a apologetic frown, “the killer put a blanket over his face and torso. The patrolman removed it to check his vitals when he came on the scene.” 

Tony pauses, looking up sharply, “He covered his face? You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” 

Tony frowns, “That’s more care than he took with any of his other victims. Suggests an element of shame here.” 

Peter’s lip twists, “He was killed by someone he knew.” 

Steve looks unconvinced, “He didn’t strike me as a social butterfly kind of guy.”

“No.” Tony says darkly, “He only had one friend.” 

In the hotel where the NYPD are holding the Red Team, Harold settles Darleen in on the bed while smiling at his armed guard. “Detective, any word on whether they found Walt?”

“Not yet, but we’re on the case.” 

He nods, “Are the others already all here?”

The detective grins, “Yeah, the department took the whole floor.”

“Ah! Fantastic!” And the second the man turns around Harold knocks him unconscious with the butt of his gun. 

Opening the door of his motel room, he steps out onto the outdoor hallway that connects the rest of the floor and gives him a view of the parking lot. He walks down to the left when he hears a noise to the right. It’s Veena, walking to the vending machine.

Eyes dark, Harold pulls up his gun to shoot when yelling bursts from below, “Mr. Dresden! Freeze!” 

Dozens of cops are pressed behind their cars all aiming their guns right up at him. Harold snarls, already running back to his room while the officers shoot, bullets gouged into the walls. 

Fury has the scene contained, with a group of officers banded together to wait for orders when Tony and Peter pull up to the scene with Steve and Thor. 

“Everyone alright?” Tony asks immediately.

Fury nods, “We think so. After you called, one of our guys stopped Dresden from shooting Veena Mehta. We got the Red Team out of here, but he has one of our detectives hostage in the room.”

Tony’s brows furrow, “Ok well colour me confused. If he wanted money, shooting the rest of the Red Team in front of a bunch cops isn’t a good way to stay alive.”

Fury expression dims, “That’s because I don’t think he plans on staying alive. He already gave us a call with his demands. Most guys want a helicopter or a bus. He just wants the rest of the Red Team delivered to him.” 

“He’s on a suicide mission.” Steve says grimly.

The air is tense before Tony taps Peter on the forehead, “Kid, I forgot my phone in the car, can you run and grab it for me. I think I have an idea.”

Peter looks skeptical but turns around anyway. When Tony knows he’s out of earshot, he turns back to Fury, “Let me talk to him.”

“Tony, _no_.”

“Just listen to me Nick.” At the sound of his first name, Fury quiets, his eye trained on Tony intently, “I know why Dresden’s doing this. And I know what to say to make him stop.”

Tony raises a hand, before Fury can interrupt, “I know what’s at stake here. I’ll get your man out. I guarantee it.” 

Tony can hear the door of the car slamming shut and he looks at Fury imploringly. “Nick, I can do this.”

Fury sucks in a breath, “Fine.” 

“Okay. Great. Now for the hard part.” Tony turns to where he catches Peter’s eyes, now dawning with clarity that he was sent away on purpose.

Tony walks over to where he’s waiting by the car and from his expression Peter just knows. 

“Tell me you’re not going inside to negotiate with him.” 

“There’s a detective’s life at risk kid.” 

“Yeah and what? Your life isn’t at risk too?” Peter pushes, hurt and angry. 

“Peter-”

“No don’t- don’t say my name and then give me some stupid hero speech because I’m tired of hearing it and I don’t care and-”

Tony swoops down and grabs him in for a hug, pressing him closer as he struggles, squeezing as tightly as he can. “You never used to be mad about this stuff before. You’d always be worried, cause you’re a good kid. But you didn’t used to get mad, and not at me. And I kept thinking about it and it’s my fault right? Because the thing that’s different now is trust.”

Peter stiffens in Tony’s arms but Tony doesn’t let go. “I know what I did with Hammer hurt you. I know that you started to doubt whether I cared about you or loved you and you thought I was a bad guardian and I deserved all that. Everyone thinks the worst part was the relapse, but that doesn’t even come close to how much worse it is that you don’t trust me anymore. Somewhere along the lines you stopped looking at me like I was your hero and that’s okay. That’s fine kid. I’m just a person.”

“But I’m a person who cares so much about you it’s insane. I love you Peter.” And he feels Peter shake in his arms and Tony presses his head down and repeats himself louder, “I love you and I’ll keep reminding you and I’ll earn back your trust because I’m not going to leave you. Never again. I’m going to be better. I’ll become better. And you’ll be able to trust that I’ll always come back home and that I’ll never leave you behind.” 

“Mr. Stark-” Peter’s voice shakes and shakes, “Mr. Stark I-”

“It’s okay.” Tony soothes, running a hand through his hair, “It’s okay. And I know you feel like the world has been falling apart and that everyone’s out to get us. But they’re not. I promise. Behind us are some of the people who care most about you in the world. And then there’s Pepper and Stephen and your friends and we’re going to pull you out of this.”

Tony pulls away and Peter’s eyes are red-rimmed and puffy. 

“I need you to have faith in me again Peter. And I know you’re a science kinda guy. So here’s experiment one. I’m going to go in there but I’m going to come right back. And we’re going to be okay.” 

“I just- I just feel so helpless. When the bad things happen I can’t- I can’t stop them.” Peter cries, head bowed.

“That’s not true. Just you being you, and being the kind of kid you are, you’ve already made all the difference in the world.”

Harold paces in the room clutching at his phone until it rings. “Are they here?” He demands.

“Nope.” Tony replies, “But I have something else for you, can you keep a secret?”

“Why are _you_ calling? I don’t want to hear what you have to say. I want Veena and Frost. Or I shoot this detective.” 

“I don’t think you will actually. Just like how I don’t think you’re going to hurt anyone but yourself.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Let me in, we can talk about it.” Tony replies, knocking on the door, “If you hear what I have to say and you’re still in the mood for violence, then I’ll leave you to your standoff. And don’t worry, I’m unarmed.”

The door swings open and Tony smiles despite the gun being pointed at him, “Honestly, you just can’t get the same quality conversation as you can face to face.”

Harold gestures with the gun to the table, “You said you wanted to talk, so talk.” 

Tony sprawls on the chair, looking at him like he was examining something, “All I can base my conclusions on is a person’s behavior. And everything you’re doing tells me you’re not interested in making a buck, you just don’t want anyone to find out about the plan you six made up.”

Harold stops, staring at him like he can’t look away.

“You’re convinced it’s gonna get out and that it’ll lead to thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of deaths. But,” Tony says dramatically, “if everyone who knows the plan is dead or have their memory wiped, that can never happen.”

“It’s pretty utilitarian honestly,” Tony says casually, “six of you plus your army contact, seven lives versus thousands.”

Harold’s breathing gets a little more intense and Tony knows he’s on the right track. “You were going slowly at first, but then there I went asking some annoying questions so you had to speed it up. Luckily for you, after Clarke was murdered, we brought all the remaining targets right to this hotel with you.”

Harold doesn’t say anything, but Tony knows he’s right. “The one thing that I don’t actually get, is why you became so convinced the plan was going to leak. It had already been two years since the games.” 

Harold looks away and then at his wife, sleeping quietly on the bed, “Two years ago…that’s when Darleen woke up one morning and told me she felt this twitching in her hand. ALS is horrible. You lose about two percent of your body’s function every month. Two years in, and it’s all I can do just to keep her from getting bed sores.” 

Tony frowns in sympathy.

“Before then, I’d been approached before about selling our plan. I think we all had cryptic emails, strangers coming to us in the subway. We never knew who was behind the though. But one day,” and his voice breaks, “someone came up to me and said he could help Darleen if I talked to him.”

“One day two years ago.” Tony pushes.

Harold nods, “I knew he was lying obviously. But still, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And I knew that- that if he’d been able to do even one thing for her, I would’ve told them everything I know.” He shakes his head, guilt pouring off him in waves, “Everyone has that one thing don’t they? Just one weakness that would make you betray every principle you ever had.” 

Tony thinks of Natasha and how prepared he was to murder H and knows that what Harold says is true. 

“I realized then that it was only a matter of time before someone put the right price on it.” 

“So then you started your plan.” Tony finishes quietly.

Harold smiles, but it’s bitter, “Congratulations, you figured out my plan. And thank you for helping me enact it. When I only had one cop in here I had no leverage, but now, once I shoot you, they’ll realize I mean it. They’ll give me what I want. Eight lives versus thousands.” He shrugs, “Math still works.”

Tony sighs, “I’m genuinely dumbfounded at how you haven’t worked this out yet.” He leans forward, serious, “There’s no such thing as a secret. Your plan? It’s in a memo. It’s been emailed back and forth.” 

Harold shakes his head, “No. No, it was labeled for eyes only. No one but the White House Situation Room has access to it.”

Tony just looks at him like he pities him, “I know it.”

Harold bangs his fist on the table, “No you do NOT!”

But Tony doesn’t flinch. “I do. I worked it out hours after taking the case.” 

Harold shakes his head, swaying, before angling the gun to aim right for Tony’s forehead. “And before you shoot that gun, you should know,” Tony looks him right in the eye, “I told a friend.”

Harold’s arm trembles.

“Yup, sorry. I wrote It down, your secret’s out.” 

Harold drops his armed hand from the air, almost laughing to himself, “If that’s true…then that’s checkmate isn’t it?”

Tony shrugs in agreement.

And just as suddenly, the gun is back in his face, the safety clicking off, “Tell it to me then.” 

Peter watches door 209 like his entire existence depends on it. Next to him, Steve is tense, staring ahead with him. “Hey, it’s going to be alright.” Steve says softly, patting Peter on the shoulder.

Peter barely has the strength to turn his head to look at him when door 209 opens with a flourish and Tony steps out. 

Steve can’t help but laugh, squeezing Peter’s shoulder. Behind Tony, Harold walks out, hands above his head and then forcibly dragged down to be handcuffed. Tony looks down over the railing, catches Peter’s eye, and flashes him a double peace sign. 

Running past the yellow tape, Peter barrels into Tony at the bottom of the stairs and wraps him in a hug. “Let’s call experiment one a success yeah?” Tony laughs, nodding when the Captain and his colleagues makes his way over. 

“You good Stark?”

“Peachy Captain.” 

“So, how did you get him to come out?” 

Tony shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I told him I knew the Red Team’s plan and then I told him it.”

Thor frowns, “But how did you figure it out?”

Tony gives him an offended look, “Excuse me. I thought very quickly and very carefully.”

Steve just glares, “So you guessed.”

“Is this really the time for lectures? I had an idea about their strategy…I just chose the most likely one! Gun to your head, shockingly a powerful motivator.” 

Peter looks moderately scandalized and Fury looks close to yelling but Tony just looks out into the open sky and feels a strange sort of happiness like everything was exactly the way it should be. Maybe everything he told Peter wouldn't be proven to be a lie. Maybe he really could make it all okay. 

It’s a little past six pm and Peter’s out getting them dinner while Tony’s running background checks on some adolescent psychologists Stephen’s recommended to him. It’s in the middle of his sixth no that he has the strangest urge.

He swipes his phone open and dials in a number he’d already memorized since seeing it. Gary picks up on the second ring, “Hello?”

“Hi Gary, this is Tony.”

Gary’s tone immediately changes, “Hey Tony, glad you called.”

“Sorry, is this a bad time? You sound like you’re running a marathon.”

Gary laughs, trying to control his breathing, “No sorry, not a marathon, just a more of an intense walk than I thought. How can I help you out?”

“Honestly, I appreciated what you said to me the other day and I could use feeling like I was helpful to someone right about now. I was wondering if you wanted to go to a meeting with me tonight.” 

Gary pauses, “Yeah, absolutely. It might take me a while to get to there though. Let’s say St. Paul’s at eight?” 

“Yeah. Eight sounds great. See you then.”

Gary smiles as he says goodbye, tucking his phone back into his pocket before picking up the shovel he dropped and continuing digging his grave until it was deeper than just two feet. He glances at the body of a lifeless blonde-haired woman strewn on the ground beside it and smiles, “Don’t worry, you’ll be in your new home soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy guys we're in for a trip. We'll be introducing Nebula (in what will truly be a fun case), we're bringing back Nat for a guest star appearance and some secrets revealed! And also more Howard...which is gross, but is the price we have to pay for plot. Oh, and Rhodey! Who will play a big part and unfortunately pay the price...
> 
> Anyway! Guess who's motivated about this again! At least until I wrap up this giant double arc. Which was moderately exhausting to figure out, but hopefully it works out!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for all the encouragement to start the sequel! I just want to warn you guys that now that I've started work, I might not update as frequently as I did with Sinister Spider, but I'll try my best! Comments always help :P
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy! This fic is gonna be a lot more intense so that's fun.


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